Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Shaking hands felt the heavy weight of a pickaxe’s handle, unsteady and nearly slipping from their grasp. Mouth drier than the desert, a breath was attempted, inhaling nothing but coal dust.

Pick it up. Pick it up.

The tool fell from their hands. It was dark, hard to see anything, even with the flashlights on their helmets. The shouting was loud, distinguishable amongst the clinking of sharpened steel upon rock. Knees wobbling with every step, they reached out and grasped onto the shirt of—someone.

A loud crack sounded out. There was a gasp, and then…

Nothing. Nothingness. Loneliness. Sticky, warm blood on their hands. The gleam of a knife’s blade.

No man, for any considerable period, can wear one face to himself, and another to the multitude, without finally getting bewildered as to which may be the true.

A gasp. A body shot up in bed, gasping, covered in a sheen of cold sweat. Only after realizing where they were—safe, they were safe, that was all that mattered—did they hear the sound of the alarm over the loudspeaker.

Who were they?

Sawyer? No.

Roy? Definitely not.

Aaron. Yeah. That sounded right.

Taking deep, measured breaths, 29-year-old Aaron Stampler slumped over on his cot in his designated room at Daisyland. He reached under his pillow, pulling out a little notebook and pen, and began to write.

6/18/2005

“Had the dream again. Dr. Woodward says that it’s normal to have these dreams after everything we’ve been through—I just want to sleep. I’m so tired.”

— Aaron

Closing the notebook, Aaron surveyed the space, stuffing the notebook back in its place. A hand rested over his heart, feeling his heartbeat. It was quiet.

“Hello?”

There was a moment of silence before:

Mornin’.

Hey, kiddo. How’re you feeling?

Sawyer and Tommy. Aaron visibly relaxed, nodding. “Fi-Fine.”

That damned stammer. Aaron had gotten better at speaking without tripping over his words, but under duress, this wasn’t the case. He ran a hand through his hair and glanced at the calendar on the wall adjacent from him.

In two days’ time, he would be released from the hospital. After ten years, they would be letting him go.

The dream again, huh?

I had it, too.

“You did?” Aaron swung his legs over the side of the bed. “I keep thinkin’ about it, I do—…don’t know why.”

Don’t work yourself up.

He looked up at the clock that built into the wall just on the other side of the room. 6:15 AM it read.

Aaron groaned to himself, rubbing away the sleep in his eyes. It always felt like he was waking up earlier and earlier the more his nightmare plagued his dream. At least he still had some time to himself before breakfast.

He hopped off the bed to grab some neatly folded clothes off the desk beside the bed. He figured to take a shower now or else he’d never be given an opportunity to do it later. He was forever grateful to have his own during all these years at Daisyland, it gave him some sense of privacy. Though he figured one of the workers would come in checking on him once they heard the water running.

How they make these bathrooms so damn loud I will never know. Too loud if ya ask me.

Aaron flipped on the lights and was met face-to-face with a very tired looking man staring right back at him. The bags under his eyes were dark, prominent. It looked like he never had a good night’s sleep in forever—which was kind of true, for the most part. Some nights he slept fine, others he couldn’t close his eyes at all.

Nowadays it felt like every time did, the same nightmare plagued his mind.

Aaron sighed as he stripped himself of his clothes, hopping into the shower. The water was decently warm today—not too hot but not too cold. As the droplets ran down him he could feel his mind wander to the early days of his stay at Daisyland.

Most of his memories were a blur to him, only bits and pieces of it popping up in his mind. He remembered being scared of the unfamiliar surroundings, and how some of the workers brushed him off as they guided him to his room. Some of the others were nicer, but they still didn’t allow him to interact with anyone else.

The institution had also prescribed him testosterone (thank God for that), and provided him with a proper binder. They never allowed him to take his own shot; once a week a doctor would come in and administer it for him. He probably wouldn’t have minded doing it himself—he usually did—but the rules and regulations of the institution prevented him from doing such a thing.

It was probably for the best, at least for Roy and Sawyer. They never did well with needles, or change in general for that matter.

Aaron recalled those periods of emptiness during his stay. The times where somebody else took over for a moment. He never knew what was going on, even if he had a front row seat to whoever was fronting; Tommy or Gabriel always had to fill him in. Aaron never really took into account how they would all adjust to the new environment until after all the incidents he was made aware of.

While the aforementioned Tommy and Gabriel had a better time getting used to Daisyland, Roy and Sawyer, however, did not. There were one too many times where Aaron was told of Roy almost attacking Dr. Woodward and Sawyer having a meltdown after getting touched by one of the nurses. Both of the men had to get physically restrained after every episode.

“GET YOUR FUCKIN’ HANDS OFF OF ME! I’LL BREAK YOUR NECK, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!”

“Roy, just calm down! I’m only trying to check your vitals, you aren’t in any danger!”

Aaron shuddered under the water pressure as he remembered a time where he fronted while they still had him restrained. He’d nearly had a panic attack—it was Hell for him.

He never blamed Roy or Sawyer for any of it. If anything, he felt bad for them. After one of his therapists told him to communicate more with the others, he got a better understanding of why they acted the way that they did. The more he spoke with them, the better they started acting. All of them started acting better once Aaron started really speaking with them.

The improved behaviors gave him a new sense of hope. He wondered once the hospital released them all, they would finally get a chance to live a normal life. A happy normal life.

Aaron had just finished slipping into his uniform when he heard the jingling of keys and the click of a lock. Head jerking around, he found himself met with one of the many nurses in Daisyland who took care of him—Mary. She was short, wore her brunette hair in a french braid, and always smiled.

In her hands, she held a tray of freshly made scrambled eggs, bacon, two pieces of toast with butter, and a paper cup of orange juice. An even smaller cup was set on the tray as well. Their morning pills.

“Who do I have the pleasure of speaking to today?” she asked, flashing her teeth, and Aaron couldn’t stop himself from smiling along with her.

“Aaron,” he replied, picking up the small cup of pills. A nurse was always present whenever they took their medication, for if not, many patients would flush them down the toilet.

(Roy had done so, on a few occasions. Dr. Woodward was not happy about that.)

Sighing, Aaron tipped his head back and let the capsules fall into his mouth. The orange juice came next, which he lifted to his mouth to wash down the medication. Down the hatch.

Still think we’d be better off without the damn crazy pills.

That stuff ain’t gonna get rid of us, Roy.

Speak of the Devil. Aaron smacked his lips and set the cup down, taking the tray from Mary. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Sure thing, Aaron.”

She moved to leave, paused, then turned back around. A finger pointed at him as he lowered himself into his chair by the desk in his cell.

“By the way,” she added, “you have a visitor to see you.”

Brows shooting upwards, Aaron leaned forward in his chair. “A-A visitor?”

“You heard me correctly.”

“Bu-…But I ain’t got no one to see me.”

“Well, you do now. Said his name was Martin Vail.”

All at once, Aaron froze where he sat. Martin Vail? That couldn’t be right.

“Don’t call this number again, you sick little shit.”

“Ma-Martin Vail?” Squirming nervously in his seat, Aaron asked, “What—I-I mean, are you su-sure—?”

Vail? After all these years?

Fuckin’ hell. You gotta be kiddin’ me.

So Marty finally came back around, huh?

“Sure I’m sure. Dr. Woodward just called me about it.”

Dr. Woodward escorted him in? Aaron was suddenly so anxious he felt as though he might vomit. He hoped the medication would set in soon, or else he wouldn’t be able to focus.

“O-Okay. Um.” A clearing of his throat. “Can-Can I have a couple minutes to eat?”

Mary nodded, smiling again, genuine. “Sure. I’ll be waiting to take you to the visitor’s suite.”

The door came to a close soon after, locking with a distinct click.

The truth of the matter is that Aaron didn’t want eat anymore. He drank what he could of his orange juice to stay hydrated, but he couldn’t keep more than a nibble of his eggs down. He knew better methods to help calm his anxiety now (thanks to ten years of therapy), yet the only way of steadying his shaking hands was to shove them in his pockets.

Damn lawyer.

I’ll punch the bastard again, you know.

Hey! What did we say about bein’ non-violent?

Jesus Christ, I’m only kiddin’, Tom! Guy was an asshole anyway, y’know.

I know.

Forcing down a piece of bacon, he tossed the rest down into the bin by the door. No use trying to hold any more food down. With a sigh he knocked on the door, and after another click!, Mary answered.

“You all finished?” She asked with a smile.

Aaron didn’t say a word but he nodded, giving her a small grin in return.

After locking the door once more Mary guided him through a series of hallways before leading him to a door. She held it open for him, motioning with her head to go in. Just from the doorway Aaron could see Vail and Dr. Samuel Woodward chatting across the room.

“He’s in there, Dr. Woodward is in the room as well. I’ll be outside waiting.” Mary gave another warm smile to Aaron, who was comforted by the sight.

Once he stepped inside he could hear the door lock behind him. There were a couple paintings hanging on the walls, as well as another door on the other side of the room. In the middle there was a large table with two fabric chairs sitting on opposite sides of it, with a third one beside the other door. In the chair opposite from Aaron was none other than Martin Vail.

He didn’t look much different than the last time they all saw him face to face. He had more gray in his hair but he still has that same “big shot attorney” look that the system was all too familiar with.

Still looks as much of a self entitled prick now as he did back then.

Roy!

What? I’m not wrong, am I?

Dr. Woodward and Vail stopped mid conversation once they saw Aaron step inside. Marty narrowed his eyes in disdain while Woodward’s eyes lit up.

“Ah! Mister—Wait, who is the one present now?”

His voice shook as he spoke. “Aaron, d-doctor.”

He could see Vail mutter something to himself, which didn’t help with his nerves. He could feel his hands getting clammy the longer Vail’s eyes burned into his skin. Woodward didn’t seem to notice the tension between the two men, instead motioning for Aaron to sit in the chair across from them.

“Mr. Stampler! I was just speaking with Mr. Vail here and I must say—what a history you two have! Can’t believe you two went through so much all those years ago.”

Dr. Woodward walked over to give a pat on Aaron’s back, who could only muster up a weak smile. He turned to Martin then, addressing him. “Mr. Vail, you must have met the others during your time with Aaron’s case, have you not?”

Vail looked up at the doctor. “The others?”

“Yes, of course! I’ve been learning so much about Mr. Stampler’s alters during his stay here, you must’ve met at least some of them during the trial. Now what were their names…”

His voice trailed off, tapping his chin as he was thinking to himself. As if a lightbulb had gone off in his head, he snapped his fingers.

“Ah-ha! I remember now! There’s Roy, Tommy, Sawyer, Gabriel, and Ms. Evangeline.”

Anxiety swelled up in Aaron’s chest as Dr. Woodward listed off the names of the system. He still wasn’t used to his disorder being so out in the open like that, and it didn’t help that he saw Vail’s jaw tighten as the names were listed off.

“Oh, yeah—I’m familiar with them alright,” Vail stated through gritted teeth.

Woodward sat down in the other chair. “Those folks are such a handful, let me tell you! Tommy’s an absolute delight but he tends to… act a certain way whenever the nurses are around. Glad he’s never tried to do anything physical with them.”

Aaron gripped at the hem of shirt. Vail didn’t look amused by anything the doctor was saying. He didn’t even look at Woodward—instead, his focus was solely on Stampler.

“I don’t see Gabriel or Ms. Evangeline all that often. Think I’ve only seen Gabe a few times and Eva only once.” Woodward shook his head. “That poor woman—she was shaking so much during the one time she fronted. I tried to be as kind as possible, I hope she’s not as afraid anymore.”

Martin only hummed in response, still not fully paying attention. His eyes were filled with so much fire and hatred as he continued watching Aaron, who had no clue what he could’ve done to have his old lawyer look at him in such a way. The last time they saw each other, Vail had given him a hug and a warm smile.

Now? Now he was glaring daggers into him.

“Now Roy and Sawyer,” Woodward paused to consider his next few words, “those two are an interesting pair. It’s clear to me they’re the more… unstable ones in the system. I’ve had to have them physically restrained on multiple occasions.”

Aaron's hands were shaking as he spoke out. “They…They can’t r-really be tr-…trusted alone ‘round each other. ‘L-Least that’s how it used t’be.”

Woodward looked over at him. “Is that so?”

Stampler nodded. “Y-Yessir. While Tommy an’…an’ Roy usually are the ones at each-each other’s throats, b-but him an’ Sawyer have almost always tried t-to kill each other durin’ every argument.” He chuckled to himself. “Su-Surprised they h-haven’t broken anythin’ yet but…but then again they’re always tryin’ to b-break each other.”

Woodward laughed. “Aaron has such a wonderful sense of humor,” he said, as if Stampler was not in the room.

Martin only rolled his eyes. “So I’ve heard.” He clasped his hands together, leaning forward onto the table. “So, Aaron, Do you remember the last thing you said to me? In that cell, ten years ago?”

He tried thinking that far back, when Vail had visited his cell to tell him he would be getting transferred to a mental hospital after Roy’s appearance at the trial. He had a genuine smile that day, and he remembered getting a hug from Vail, but what else was there?

Aaron tried thinking harder, but the memory would suddenly just black out to him. He had no recollection of anything else that day. Unless—Venable! Suddenly he jolted up in his chair. He remembered Roy telling him about choking Miss Venable during the trial. He had told Vail about it but shortly after he blacked out.

“I-I remember tellin’ you ‘bout…‘bout Miss Venable’s neck. How I was s-sorry tha’ happened. Never kn-…knew Roy did that ‘til he told me not t-too long before you came along.”

Vail chuckled. “I suppose he also told you that there was ‘never an Aaron’ either?”

Stampler titled his head in confusion. “I don’t…I don’t recall him sayin’ that, Mi-Mister Vail.”

“Sounds like Roy’s sense of humor,” Woodward laughed, but it didn’t ease the tension. Roy hadn’t fronted, right? That had been Sawyer and Tommy.

Sawyer and Tommy.

“Roy inherited much of Aaron’s father’s mannerisms,” the doctor rattled off. “When I first met him, he had nothing good to say about Aaron. Now? Well, the two are getting along better. He does want to protect Aaron, you know. He means well.”

“Yeah,” Vail narrowed his eyes at Aaron, as if trying to read him. “I met Roy, once. Slammed me against a wall.”

“Like I said, Roy and Sawyer were troublesome. But, after ten years of therapy, I’d say that Aaron is able to return to a normal life again.”

Unease settled over both Aaron and Vail. Despite being six feet tall, Stampler couldn’t help but feel small under his past lawyer’s steely gaze. He resented Aaron, that much was certain.

And it had something to do with Sawyer and Tommy.

“Tell him, Aaron,” Dr. Woodward encouraged Aaron now, “about all the progress you’ve made. Why, you’ve even left the building on a handful of occasions.”

Vail raised a brow. “Left?”

The medication was not working fast enough. Aaron tugged nervously at the material of his pants, knees bouncing.

“On occasion,” Aaron confirmed with a nod. “An’ I had to be surrounded by guards at all…all times. We went d-down to the lil’ ice cream shop on-on the corner.”

“I’d never seen the man so happy.” Woodward grinned, crossing one leg over the other. “You would’ve thought he’d never experienced joy in his life.”

Not in a long while, Aaron thought, finding a loose string on the hem of his shirt, picking at it.

“Uh-huh.”

Vail nodded, and there he was again, squinting, staring into Aaron. Something was off. There was something being kept from him, knowledge stowed away.

“Well,” Martin shrugged, “I hear you’re being let out. Dr. Woodward told me: Friday. That’s in—Jesus, two days.”

“Yes, sir.” Looking at Vail was becoming difficult now. Aaron turned his attention to the floor instead. “Been ‘bout t-te-…ten years since the trial now.”

“And look how much you’ve grown.”

Vail’s tone was not genuine. The shy, polite demeanor of Aaron Stampler could cause one to think that he wasn’t the brightest, but he was observant. All of them had to be. It was their only way to survive.

Martin Vail was mocking him.

“Speaking of,” Martin turned to Woodward, “could I have a moment alone with Aaron? Just to catch up?”

Laughing heartily, Woodward nodded and stood, patting Vail on the shoulder. “Take all the time you need, Martin. And you can trust me: Aaron’s harmless. Even Roy wouldn’t lay a finger on you.”

Sure I wouldn’t.

Roy, what’re you on about?

SHUT UP, TOMMY.

Watching Dr. Woodward leave was like watching a boat sail past while adrift at sea. Aaron would have appreciated it much more had the man stayed. Having to face Vail now, alone?

You have us.

Vail thankfully broke the silence, pulling out his briefcase. “I have something for you, Aaron.”

Great. Aaron inhaled shakily, sitting up in his chair, attention on the man who was once his lawyer. “Uh—y-yeah?”

With two distinct clicks, the briefcase was opened. Its contents were hidden, and just as Aaron craned his neck to take a peek, Vail closed the case. In his hand, he held a book, which he extended for Aaron to take.

Everything in Aaron’s vision narrowed down to the title on the cover in a matter of seconds: The Scarlet Letter.

“What’s—”

“Open it. Page 156.”

Without even opening the book, Aaron knew why Vail is doing this. He obeyed, nonetheless, and flipped to page 156. Right there, plain as day, was the quote Tommy had underlined ten years ago.

In fact, it was underlined in this copy as well, with the exact same ink color. Aaron froze.

This was their copy of The Scarlet Letter.

What fuckin’ sick joke is he playin’ at?

Aaron shook his head in confusion. “I-I don’t understand, Mi-Mister Vail, I—”

“Just…keep looking.” Marty’s tone was serious, motioning with his eyes to look a little closer.

Stampler scanned through the page once again until his eyes landed on some out of place writing just a few paragraphs below the underlined quote.

It read, in bold red ink:

“BEWARE OF
THE FOX”

- HYDRA

“Who…Who is the Fox? A-An’ who’s Hydra?” Aaron handed the book back over to Vail.

“Why do you think I’m here?” He placed the book back inside the briefcase once again, clicking it shut.

“Bu-But I don’t know anyone with those names. Not here, not at the…the Savior House, not even at Creekside.”

Marty narrowed his eyes. “And you’re telling me the truth, correct? Didn’t just…write this out and send this to me as another way to get back at me.”

Aaron looked at him dumbfounded. “Wh-Why would I do such a thing?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you’re trying to mock me again, as if admitting to faking your little disorder wasn’t enough.” Martin waved his hand to the man across from him. “Can’t tell if what the doctor was telling me was real or another ruse you somehow put up for ten damn years.”

Faking? Ruse? What did Tommy and Sawyer do in that cell when they took over? After all of these years, they were still keeping secrets from him?

Aaron’s voice wavered when he spoke. “M-Mister Vail, I-I’ve been tellin’ you the truth. Roy, Tommy, all…all o’ them are real! I dunno what happened back there but I can tell you tha-…that was not me.”

Marty cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Yeah, yeah, so you told me. ‘There never was an Aaron,’ I know. I’m not stupid.” He rubbed at the side of his temples. “Well if it wasn’t you, Aaron, do you have any clue who this might be?”

Stampler shook his head, toying with the loose thread at the hem of his shirt. “No—No sir, I don’t. Patients aren’t a-aren’t allowed to interact wi—…with one another. None of the books here a-are Hawthorne books either.”

“What about the staff here? The nurses? Anybody?”

“N-No, sir. They’ve had all kinds of folks here at…at Daisyland. They wo-would never do such a thing to any o’ them, no matter how t-terrible they may seem.”

“What about people from before, let’s say… the other altar boys? Maybe someone from Creekside?”

Aaron chuckled to himself. “None of the other altar boys ever r-really fancied themselves a book. Only ever would read the ones B-Bishop Rushman for—…forced them to read.” He thought to himself for a moment. “As for Creekside, I don’t recall anybody goin’ by either of those names except…”

His voice trailed off as he tried thinking that far back. That old town felt so far away from him it all got blurred to him, even the ones he knew he was present for. He thought about his Mama—No, she would always call him her angel. His Pa? No, he’d always call him a little sissy. Who else was there?

Vail snapped his fingers in front of Stampler, bringing him back in the present. “Hey! Except for who?”

Aaron blinked a few times. “S-Sorry, I-I’m tryin’ to remember.”

Marty groaned. “I don’t have all day, you know?”

Aaron closed his eyes as he kept thinking deeper into his memories. His brain flipped through many different kinds of moments: his warm house, the coal mines, the town, the schoolhouse. Nothing popped up in his brain until—

Miss-Miss Rebecca! C-Can I be…be the fox this time! You always g-get to be the fox!

Of course, my little fox, you can be whatever you want.

That game. He used to play that game with his old school teacher all the time. That’s why the Fox name felt so familiar to him. Did Rebecca have something to do with the book? Was she trying to reach him through Vail?

“My…My old school teacher, Miss-Miss Rebecca. You remember her, right?” Aaron’s hands were visibly shaking, gripping at his shirt for stability. “She used to call me her…her little fox. It was based off…off of this game we-we used to play. I don’t think she-she did this, but it’s the only connection I have.”

Martin rolled his eyes. “Did she ever go by the name Hydra?”

Aaron shook his head. “No. Did-Did you ever get a-any more of these kinds’a messages?”

“Not that I'm aware of. So far that book is the only thing I’ve gotten, and I’m certain there will be more in the future.”

“Gotten?” Dread threatened to swallow Aaron whole. “Y-You mean, you didn’t just p-pi-…pick out the book yourself?”

“Nope. Came in a package on my doorstep this morning.”

Who would mail Mr. Vail something like this? And who was Hydra? Aaron kept thinking about the writing on the page—“beware the fox.” What was going on?

“Mi-Mister Vail, I—”

“I know.” Vail stood from his chair now. “You don’t know who could’ve done it.”

Ten years had passed, and Aaron didn’t know what he could’ve possibly done to make Vail act like this. He was bitter, just barely showing restraint.

“I ain’t—I do-don’t know what they said t’ you, but I promise—”

“Did your father ever even abuse you, Aaron?”

Joints locking up, Aaron froze where he stood, the rest of his words lodged in his throat. Vail squinted.

“Or was that another sob story?”

Too stunned to speak, Aaron couldn’t form a cohesive reply for Vail, not one that would put all of his questioning to rest. Something happened in those moments Aaron had let Sawyer and Tommy front.

He watched as Mr. Vail left, then, a chill running down his spine. Mary approached him, gently touching his shoulder to get his attention.

The walk back to his cell was silent. At least, that is—no one spoke aloud.

What did you do?

What?

Tommy. Sawyer. What did you do?

I dunno what you’re talkin’ about, Aaron.

Tears pricked at Aaron’s eyes.

A softly spoken “thank you” was uttered under his breath as Mary unlocked his cell door, and the very moment it was shut and locked behind him, Aaron sank to the floor.

“Y-Yo-You’re lyin’.”

What—

Aaron’s back rested against the door, knees hugged to his chest. “You’re lyin’. W-What did you say to M-Mis-…Mister Vail? ‘fore we were sent h-here?”

Aaron, you’re workin’ yourself up.

Two days. They had two days until their release, and Aaron felt as though they were back at square one. His hands furiously rubbed at the tears rolling down his cheeks, willing himself to hold back sobs.

“Fine,” he acquiesced, rising from the floor and shuffling to his mattress. “Gon-Gonna take a nap.”

He couldn’t stop thinking of the message written on that page. He couldn’t stop thinking of Mr. Vail’s face when he asked Aaron about his father. He couldn’t stop thinking about Rebecca.

In two days’ time, they would be released. And someone out there was watching them.

Chapter Text

To say Gabriel was not happy with Tommy and Sawyer would be an understatement.

Once he learned that they kept something from Aaron, something that had to do with Martin Vail and his behavior towards Aaron, he was beyond furious. He thought they left this kind of behavior behind when they were all admitted to Daisyland.

When he called out for them, his voice was full of rage:

“TOMMY! SAWYER! IN THE KITCHEN, NOW!”

They were weary when they arrived, not having expected that kind of tone from Gabriel. Even during times of extreme stress he was always calm and collected. Now here he was, standing on the other side of the kitchen glaring daggers into the two men.

“Do you want to know why I brought you two here?” Gabe asked, anger dripping from his voice.

Sawyer’s voice was shaky, as was his entire body. “I—uh… no?”

Gabriel groaned. “You’ve been keeping secrets from Aaron—both of you have. Even after ten years at Daisyland you two can’t be honest with him. Even after Dr. Woodward told him to communicate more with us, you still can’t open up to him…”

Tommy scoffed. “Gabe—what are you talkin’ about? We’ve done everythin’ they’ve asked us, we’ve been plenty talkative to the kid. Hell, even Sawyer’s gotten better with listenin’ to Woodward over these ten years!”

Gabriel pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, how you behave around Dr. Woodward is not what’s important right now. What’s important is that you two tell me the truth. What happened in that cell?”

Sawyer was clinging onto Tommy the same way a scared kid would cling to their mother, scared and afraid of the angry figure on the other side of the kitchen. He didn’t do well when there was an angry priest in the room. Even Tommy, now presenting in his early fifties, was hesitant to say anything.

They’d changed in the past decade. Sawyer’s style had upgraded from the seventies to the eighties, no longer wearing low v-necks and instead opting for crop tops, jeans, and brightly colored clothes. Tommy, meanwhile, had seemingly aged over a decade. The wrinkles on his face were more pronounced, his once strawberry blond hair streaked with gray.

“Right,” Tommy said after a long pause, “because you’re the only one ‘round here who can keep secrets?”

Nostrils flaring, Gabriel scowled. “Have you forgotten our roles here? Obviously not, since you put Aaron through that turmoil with the lawyer.”

Exasperated, Tommy rolled his eyes, massaging his temples. “Christ. God, fine, alright, look—maybe Sawyer and I did a bit’a… now, I wouldn’t say lyin’—”

“Tommy!” Sawyer elbowed him rather suddenly in the side. Tommy let out a yelp, grunting in pain and recoiling. Lowering his shades, Sawyer met his gaze, brows knitted. “The fuck’re you doin’?”

“Sawyer—” Hands running through graying hair, Tommy let out a breath through his nose, swallowing. “Look, I think it’s time to come clean ‘bout what we did.”

Fixing Tommy with a bewildered expression, Sawyer clicked his tongue and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Your funeral, old man.”

“Come clean?” Gabriel cut in now, before Tommy could make any remark on Sawyer’s attitude. “Come clean about what?”

What, indeed. Pulling up a chair, Tommy plopped down in it, arms folded over his chest as he lifted his gaze to the priest’s. As far as the system was concerned, Tommy was the only one who felt remotely comfortable around Gabriel to hold a conversation with him, even after all these years.

This very moment, however, was an exception.

“It was back at the courthouse,” he began, rubbing at his lips. “Vail had just come to give Aaron the good news, and say his goodbyes. Roy told Aaron what he did to that, uh—Venable, the prosecutor. Aaron told Vail to extend his apologies to her. But, uh… he didn’t realize in the moment how close Aaron really was with Roy.”

Tommy was bent over the chair now, hands coming together, rubbing. Sawyer leaned up against the kitchen sink, biting the corner of his lip anxiously.

“He didn’t want Vail to be mad at him, so—Sawyer an’ I jumped in. We already had a plan of sorts to get him off our backs: convince him that we didn’t exist. That Roy, that all of us, were nothin’ but a ruse.”

With that, Tommy gestured vaguely and sat back up, head hung in shame. Gabriel couldn’t believe what he’d just heard; what secrets had been kept from him for ten years.

“You—” He pointed at the pair. “Both of you. You are fools.”

“That… uh—” Sawyer chuckled nervously. “That wasn’t the only thing we said.”

This time Gabriel looked over at him. “Oh really now?”

“Yeah so… um… d-do you remember how we—don’t really know where Linda ran off to?”

Gabe didn’t say anything but still nodded.

Sawyer fiddled with his hands. “Right, so uh—we might’ve also told M-Marty that we may have….killed her. As a sort of… excuse as to why she wasn’t around.”

Gabriel held himself against the wooden table, trying to process everything he was just told. All of a sudden he slammed his fists against the table.

“ARE YOU OUT OF YOU MIND?!”

His scream startled the two men, with Sawyer going back to hiding behind Tommy. Gabriel pointed at the two men. “Both of you have nearly damned that boy to hell. Do you know what could’ve happened to him?”

They both shook their heads, and Gabriel rolled his eyes.

“HE COULD’VE BEEN KILLED!”

“Hey! Would you pipe it down over there!”

All three of the men turned towards the kitchen door to find Roy leaning against the doorway. His now blond hair covered more of his face, but his annoyance was as clear. These days, Roy’s appearance was softer, with not as many sharp edges. He was still a brash asshole, but he was far more controlled than he used to be.

“For once these two,” he waggled a finger towards Tommy and Sawyer, “didn’t do nothin’ wrong. I mean—you saw what that bastard was doin’, he was gonna fuck over Sonny in some way somehow.”

Gabriel groaned loudly, fingers scraping against the wood. “Roy, this doesn't concern you. Get out.”

“But you know tha’ I’m r—”

Another fist slammed against the table. “GET OUT!”

For once, Roy raised his arms in the air in defeat. He knew better than to argue when Gabriel was angry. He’d rather not pick a fight and get chewed out in the process. Instead, he muttered something under his breath as he walked off, disappearing out of view just as soon as he arrived.

Gabriel let out another groan of frustration. “I just—I really expected better from you two.” He pointed to Tommy. “You especially. You’re older than I am, you’re supposed to be a PROTECTOR!”

The priest’s words rattled around in Tommy’s head. Protector. He thought he was doing a good job. Roy said it himself: Marty was using all of them. He exploited Aaron’s trauma just to coax one of them out. Who knows what else he could’ve done?

Now his voice was shaky as he tried to defend himself. “B-But—there was no other choice we had! You saw what Marty did at the trial, or at the very least you must’ve heard. He exploited Aaron! He exploited all of us! He brought out that bitch Rebecca just to—”

“I’VE HEARD ENOUGH!”

Tommy lowered his head in shame, not wanting to meet Gabriel’s angry gaze. Sawyer on the other hand was crouching behind him, shaking and cowering in fear. It was like the wrath of God himself was raining down on the two men, punishing them for committing such horrible acts of sin.

Gabe raised his hand as if he was going to scold them some more but stopped himself once something caught his attention. From the kitchen he saw through a window in the living room a familiar figure, who was speaking with Evangeline outside in her garden.

It was Aaron Stampler.

He seemed blissfully unaware of what was going on inside. He was laughing and smiling with his mama—completely naïve to everything else. Gabriel closed his fist took a deep breath, not wanting the boy to hear his yelling.

“It doesn’t matter what Vail did or did not do.” He gritted his teeth. “Both of you almost had Aaron killed. You guys are lucky Vail didn’t snitch about the Linda part, but that boy still doesn’t have anybody to count out.”

Sawyer’s voice came out quiet and uneven. “B-But he-he still has us, r-right?”

“HE CAN’T ALWAYS RELY ON US!”

Sawyer flinched at the shout, which Gabe took notice of. He took another deep breath before steadying himself against the wooden table. He thought to himself, Lord give me strength.

“I need you two to get out of my sight or else I’m going to say something I will regret,” he sighed. “The next time you talk to Aaron, tell him everything, got it?”

Sawyer and Tommy nodded. Gabriel waved them off and both of them ran out as fast as they could. In the living room he could hear Roy speaking with the other two men, but Gabe was too drowned in his own thoughts to understand what any of them were saying.

He let out another sigh as he sat down in one of the chairs, clasping his hands together. He peered out into the living room window from the kitchen. He could still see Aaron out there, smiling and laughing as Eva was showing something off in her garden.

Lord help me, I just want him to be safe, Gabriel thought to himself, prayed. That’s all I want.

It was hard for him to keep the entire system under wraps, especially with someone out there, potentially a ghost from their pasts. It was taking a toll on him, and the news of what Sawyer and Tommy did was not helping him either. He had to be strong.

For the entire system—and especially for Aaron.

The moment Aaron gained an understanding of his surroundings once waking again, he knew that something was amiss. With the knowledge he now had—that he’d been sheltered from a very important memory—he noticed that the rest of the system was eerily quiet. He must have visited their “inner world” while asleep.

(Dr. Woodward was the one who referred to it as their “inner world”: a reality built within their subconscious for the system to occasionally meet when they weren’t fronting. Aaron wasn’t always allowed in—Gabriel made sure of that.)

His recollection was vague. The most he remembered was Mama tending to the garden, and standing outside a much more colorful version of his old home. At least he didn’t have the dream again.

It was nearing noon, which was when lunch was served. Sitting up in his cot, Aaron pulled out his notebook and began to jot down in it.

6/18/2005
11:45 AM

“I think I visited the inner world when I took a nap. There was Mama, and there was the house, but that’s all I remember.”

He paused, pen pressed against the page. Clicking it a few times, he resumed:

“They’re keeping something from me. I don’t know what, but it made Mr. Vail hate me. I need to talk to them.”

—Aaron

Puffing his cheeks and exhaling, Aaron shoved the notebook back in place and sat up straight. Crossing his arms over his chest, he scowled.

“I know y’all can hear me.”

Nothing. Tapping his arm impatiently, Aaron drew his knees to his chest. He didn’t like when things got quiet.

“Hello?”

Hey, Aaron.

Thank God. The voice of Tommy cut clearly through the quiet—but there was little time to celebrate. Aaron held his head high.

“You gonna talk now? An’ te-…tell the truth?”

Tommy paused; Aaron held his breath.

Look, you gotta promise you’re not gonna panic, alright?

That wasn’t reassuring in the slightest. Regardless, he had Aaron’s full attention.

“Promise. Jus-Ju-Just tell me already.”

And he did. Succinct and to the point, Tommy told Aaron everything. How he and Sawyer had fooled Vail, and how they’d even lied about Linda’s fate. All these years, and Martin Vail thought his client was a fraud.

Anxiety churned Aaron’s stomach. He brought his hands together, fidgeting, face flushing. He was angry, betrayed that Sawyer and Tommy amongst all of them would go behind the system’s backs and do something like this. To top it off, they kept it a secret from them for ten years.

“You lied,” Aaron mumbled, and only then did he notice that he was close to tears, his chest constricting. “Y-You lied. No-Now Mr. Vail won’t believe us ‘bout nothin’.”

We were tryin’ to protect you.

“He cared a-about me.” Fingers curling, Aaron made fists in his bedsheets, eyes screwing shut. “He-He was gon’ keep in touch an’ you fuckin’ ruined it!”

(Dr. Woodward told Aaron that it was normal to be angry. Despite that, Aaron wasn’t prone to anger, not like Roy was. He also didn’t have much of a backbone, even when standing up to the others. Therapy helped him learn to speak out. Sometimes he regretted it.)

Aaron—

“No-Now someone’s after us,” he wiped his running nose with the back of his arm, “an’ M-Mr. Vail thinks we got somethin’ to do with it. Tommy, we’re gonna be out soon, I-I don’t wanna go back to jail, I ca-can’t do that again!”

Aaron!

Tommy’s tone was firm, though he didn’t scream. It was enough to get Aaron to cease his frantic rambling and pay attention.

Look—we know we fucked up. Gabriel pretty much expressed all the anger you’re feelin’ right now, but we’re not goin’ to jail.

“I…I d-don’t believe you.”

I know you don’t, but think about it. That book is the only thing that was sent to Vail. Plus if he really didn’t like us, he would’ve already told the police ‘bout Linda. We would’ve been in jail by now.

Aaron clutched at his sides but chose not to speak. It was hard to find the words to express how he felt.

You just have to make it till they release you. There’s no use frettin’ over what could happen, you just have to focus on the now, okay?

Aaron sniffled, wiping away the tears from his eyes. “W-Where…Where’s Sawyer.”

He’s with Roy right now. He’s pretty shaken up over Gabe yellin’ an’ ol’ Tiny actually felt sympathy for ‘im for once.

“Does—Does Roy know?”

’Bout what me an’ Sawyer did? O’ course he does. He feels we did the right thing.

Tears threatened to fall once again. “I’m…not surprised.”

There was a brief pause before Tommy spoke up again.

I’m sorry, Aaron.

He didn’t reply, instead clutching at his sides again. He didn’t know whether to feel sad, angry, or both. It felt like something within him wanted to scream out in agony, scratching and crawling trying to find its way out.

We did what we thought was right! I-I mean he tried to exploit you, he brought out—

“I don’t want t’hear it.”

B-But you know more than anyone what Marty was—

Aaron grabbed the pillow from behind him and threw it in front of him. “I SAID I DON’T WANNA FUCKIN’ HEAR IT!”

Once he heard the lack of a response, everything around him came crashing down. All at once tears fell down like rain, fingers pulling at the strands of his hair. Marty didn’t trust him anymore, and now he couldn’t trust the one group he thought he could rely on. Was he truly destined to live his life alone?

Was he truly that unloveable?

However, just as quickly as the anger arose within him, guilt took over. The silence in his head was deafening—he didn’t scare off Tommy, did he?

Aaron’s chest started rising rapidly as he tried to catch a moment’s breath. Panic settled in, everything becoming a blur to him. His whole body started shaking, mumbling incoherent things to himself. This was it. This was truly the end for him.

‘ey! Jus’ calm down, bub. Take deep easy breaths, it’ll be okay.

He held his shaky hands in front of him. “T-Tommy?”

‘fraid not, it’s your old pal Sawyer this time. Tom heard you yellin’ and wanted me to jump in this time. Don’t worry, he’s not mad.

“I-I didn’t mean to yell at ‘im. I was just—everythin’ was so overwhelmin’! I w-…w-was so frustrated, a-and sad, I just—”

Don’t worry ‘bout it. I know what it's like to be…overtaken by emotions. It’s tough, but that’s the price after not knowin’ how to properly communicate for so long. It’s like your brain is not used to that sort of thing.

Aaron went over to grab the pillow from the floor. “Wh-What about T-Tommy?”

Like I said, he’s not mad. He figured I should be talkin’ wit’ you now, can’t all just be him since—y’know—I’m also the one who lied too.

The fact that any of them would do this made Aaron sick all over. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he clutched the pillow to his body.

“I c-…can’t believe you lied t’ me.” His head lowered, chin tucked to his chest. “Any’a you.”

We’re sorry, Aaron. We really are.

“Then p-promise me you won’t do this again.”

Brows knitted together as he shut his eyes tightly, willing himself not to cry if anything. When Sawyer didn’t respond, Aaron stressed, “Promise me.”

I promise. Cross my heart an’ hope to die.

None of them could die, anyway. At least, Aaron didn’t think so. He shuddered and flopped onto his back.

A knock came at the door. Right—it was lunch time. Back to their regularly scheduled program.

“My hand!”

Hands grasped at the old man’s robe in his moment of distraction, attempting to shove him to the carpeted floor. But he was bigger, stronger. In the struggle, he stumbled back against the windows, smashing them, spilling broken glass everywhere.

Shit. Someone would see now. In their panic, they lifted the blade again and brought it down. This was what finally brought him to the floor.

They stabbed him in the stomach, the legs, the arms, the throat, once, twice, they lost count. Rage fueled them. Tears streamed down their cheeks. Thirty-six stab wounds, and the bastard was still alive, writhing on the floor like a fish out of water. His throat gushes blood—so much blood—and then they pierced the knife through his eyes.

He stopped screaming after that.

They’d never seen a real dead body before. They didn’t know it twitched like that, post-mortem.

Two-faced bastard.

An idea struck. Hands trembling, tears blurring their vision, they carved the symbols into his chest. The Scarlet Letter.

His genitals were next to go, cut off and shoved into his mouth. Then, lastly—the ring, swiped from one of the amputated fingers and pocketed away.

The bloody knife clattered to the floor when all was said and done, and they stumbled to the bathroom and vomited into the toilet. The white porcelain stained red with blood.

The tape. Get the tape, Tommy. Son of a bitch, get the fucking tape.

Their vision swam. The scent of his cologne filled their nostrils, and they stumbled from the bathroom.

Aaron took their place. Aaron saw the body. Aaron screamed and ran and ran and ran.

Aaron Stampler was baptized in the blood of the unholy.

“Here are your medications. You take this one twice a day, and the other one in the morning.”

It was the day of their release. Aaron had hardly slept the night before, partially from excitement; partially because the air between him and his headmates was still tense. The only ones who spoke to him on occasion were Mama and Roy, and sometimes Gabe, but that was it. No one fronted either, leaving Aaron fronting for the past two days.

Maybe they would talk it out once they were released. Hopefully.

Aaron had been escorted from his cell by two orderlies and guided into a room where Dr. Woodward handed him his medication and his prescription for testosterone. He was briefed on the conditions for his release and given paperwork to sign. Then, his personal belongings were handed over, though it wasn’t much. He didn’t even have clothes to wear that belonged to him. Woodward had at least gone through the trouble of getting him those.

“B-But… where am I s’posed to live? I don’t have anybody to go to,” Aaron had asked.

Woodward waved his hand. “Don’t you worry, we got that covered! About a year ago a referral recommendation was sent out for you to be sent to a Residential Reentry Center, or better known as a halfway home. It’s just recently been approved and that’s where you’ll be transferred” He gave a reassuring pat to Aaron’s shoulder. “Think of it like a retirement home, but for people who are trying to reintegrate into society.”

“I—“

Woodward cut him off with the wave of his hand.

“You’ll be fine. They have different kinds of services there that’ll help you get back on your feet, that’s the whole point of these homes. Plus, you’ll have more freedom there—well, not complete freedom, but you’ll have a lot more room to move freely than you did here.”

He gave another reassuring pat. “You won’t be there for very long. Average stay is about four to six months, but I have complete faith in you.”

The smile he wore was warm and genuine, and it gave Aaron a new found sense of hope he hadn’t felt in a long time. Maybe this was the moment his life would finally turn around for the better.

Woodward guided him out of the room, traversing Daisyland until they were at the front entrance. The doctor paused for a minute before turning towards Aaron, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Everything’s going to be alright. You’ve made tremendous recovery here and I have no doubt you’ll be out of the halfway house in no time.”

He pulled Aaron in for a brief hug and for a moment he felt safe. He almost forgot about Hydra and Rebecca and Mr. Vail. It was like nothing else mattered.

Woodward pulled away and gave out another warm smile; the sincerity of it made Aaron grin back in return. He really was going to miss him.

“There’s a car outside where one of my associates will take you to the halfway house.” The doctor motioned towards a vehicle parked outside. “I have heard many good things about it so I have no doubt in my mind you’ll adjust just fine there. Good luck, Aaron, and to the rest of you. The future for you all is looking brighter every day.”

With that, Woodward waved Aaron goodbye as he stepped out into a new life. As he breathed in the outside air, a newfound sense of optimistic anticipation filled his body. He had no idea what to expect from this halfway home, but for the first time in his life he was looking forward to the unknown.

There was going to be no more blood, no more lies, no more constantly living in fear.

Things were finally looking up for Aaron Stampler.

As it turned out, Dr. Woodward’s reassuring words couldn’t be closer to the truth. At least, that was how it felt in the few days Aaron had been staying at the halfway home. When he first checked in, he was greeted by a friendly face who was more than happy to guide him to his room. He was told that he’d be living with a roommate, but didn’t have to worry about seeing them too often since they had a job. Thankfully, Aaron’s roommate—Jack, a recovering alcoholic—kept mostly to himself anyway.

While there were still rules and regulations to abide by, as well as different classes, services, and chores he had to do, Aaron did indeed have more freedom. He was free to roam the building and free to go outside (albeit with permission from the staff). The tension within the system had eased somewhat as well, so that when he told the others about it, they were all thrilled over the news—with Tommy being a bit too thrilled about the newfound freedom.

While Aaron was waiting to hear any news about his applications the staff had sent out for him, they required him to do chores for the time being. Wiping down tables, doing laundry, simple household chores. He was out in the laundry room one day when one of the staff members tapped him on the shoulder.

“Uh… Aaron Stampler, is it?” they asked.

He nodded, politely, but otherwise didn’t say a word.

“There’s someone up front who wants to see you. Said she was an old friend of yours.”

Aaron couldn’t possibly fathom who might have come to see him, considering he hardly had any friends in his youth.

To say it was a surprise, then, for him to come face-to-face an older Linda Forbes, visibly pregnant and waiting at the front entrance with a smile on her face, would be an understatement. Aaron was rooted to the spot as she waved to him.

“Hi, Aaron.”

Just like that, he felt like he was damn near falling in love all over again.

Chapter Text

“Linda?”

Linda? No fuckin’ way that bitch showed up again.

What?

It’s her, Tom. Linda.

Linda? Now she decides to show up?

“That’s me,” Linda greeted him with a smile, arms extended for a hug. Careful not to press too hard on her stomach, Aaron gingerly accepted it, falling into a gentle embrace. “God, it’s been too long.”

Disbelief painted Aaron’s features. Despite this, he didn’t want to pull back, because her hugs were as warm as he remembered, and it had been too long. “Y-Yeah.”

Aaron pulled away reluctantly, looking Linda over. Ten years later, and she still looked radiant as ever. Of course, he’d rather die than say anything like that to her now, especially—

“You’re…” A gesture was given to the baby bump, cheeks burning. “Uh—”

“Pregnant?” Linda laughed, resting a hand over her belly. “My second round.”

His brows rose in surprise. “Se-Second?

“Yes, sir.” She sighed; Aaron counted the wrinkles on her face, under her eyes and on the contours of her cheeks. “George and I hadn’t really been expecting another one after Adam, but, well…”

George. Aaron’s gaze locked on the ring on Linda’s left ring finger, a stab of jealousy piercing through his heart. Linda left him, all of them, and married another man.

His mind raced. There was so much he wanted to ask her. He didn’t even know she’d been alive this whole time.

“L-Linda,” he spoke, tenderly, “you w-wanna get some coffee? We can t-t-…talk.”

Her eyes lifted, meeting Aaron’s, and he swallowed the butterflies that fluttered in his stomach, threatening to choke him.

“I’d love that, Aaron.”

“S-S-So… how’s life been t-treatin’ you since we-we last spoke?”

Being faced to face with Linda after so long, it made Aaron feel like he was back at the Savior House. Back when he was a scared, stuttering boy.

The two of them were seated at the kitchen area of the halfway home, a warm coffee pot sat in the middle of the table. They both held little paper cups in their hands.

Linda shrugged. “Well… it could’ve been better. I mean after I ran from that church I ended up at a homeless shelter for many years. But it did lead me to George, and of course my little Adam. So it wasn’t all bad.”

The mention of her family gave Aaron a bittersweet feeling. He was so happy she was able to start a family after so many painful years at the Savior House, but part of him wishes he should’ve been the one she started her family with. He should’ve been the father of her kids.

If that bitch really loved you, she would’ve brought you along when she decided to up an’ run from that damn church.

Roy!

I dare you to look me in the eyes an’ tell me that I’m wrong, Tom. I fuckin’ dare you.

Not wanting to let his sorrow show, Aaron tried bringing more small talk. “Ho-…How did you meet this… George fella?”

Linda laughed; it sounded like music to Aaron’s ears.

“Man—we met at the homeless shelter that I used to live at. He volunteered a lot and loved to speak with the people around there. When we first spoke we really hit it off.”

She took another sip, staring off at nothing in particular, reminiscing.

“We moved in together when I was about twenty-ish, maybe twenty-one? The place isn’t all that great, but it’s decent with the job he’s working with.”

“W-Where does he-he works?”

“At a local hospital not too far from where we live, he works as a nursing assistant. He helps out patients. He used to be an orderly but they switched him over after they hired some new guy just last year.”

Linda placed her cup down to the side. “George said the guy was always kinda paranoid and kept to himself a lot. Had these, like… facial scars—smoked a lot too. From what I’ve heard, the guy almost sounds like you.”

Aaron fiddled with his hands. “How so?”

She smiled at him, giving him those same old butterflies. “Well—you always were a bit introverted, always had your head in a book. You didn’t really interact with the other altar boys. Any time you spoke out you could barely get a word in before you would stutter up a storm.”

“Heh—I have gotten b-better with it over the years.”

Linda chuckled as she took a sip from her cup. “No kidding. Though if I’m being completely honest, I always thought it was for show.”

His eyes widened in surprise. “R-Really?”

“Yes! I’m being so serious!” She laughed (a heavenly sound). “I mean, c’mon—there would be days you’d be cursing like a sailor, getting into fights constantly. Or how about the times you suddenly would become some confident smooth talker. Oh, and the times after Rushman’s… sessions, you would somehow perfectly replicate a Brooklyn accent.”

Aaron looked down at his hands, cheeks flushing in embarrassment. How was he going to tell her?

“Y-Yeah… a-about that—”

Suddenly, Linda jumped in. “Wait! That had something to do with your verdict, didn’t it?”

His head suddenly shot up, shocked eyes looking up at her. “Y-You knew ‘bout the trial?”

“It was practically on every single TV in the city. Wouldn’t be surprised if all of Illinois saw the whole thing go down.”

Aaron held his head down in shame. How many people saw him? How many people knew of the truth behind him and the others inside his head?

‘Least people saw what Rushman was really doin’ behind closed doors. That’s gotta be somethin’, right?

As if reading their mind, Linda chimed in again, “At least everyone knew the truth. About Rushman, I mean.”

She paused, staring down at her coffee. Aaron held his close, though he hadn’t drunk much of it. He was far too caught up in Linda’s presence, wanting to know everything she’d been up to.

“That was you, then?” A painted nail tracing her cup’s rim. “Or—a part of you, at least? That killed him?”

The tape. Get the tape, Tommy. Son of a bitch, get the fucking tape.

“Tommy an’ Roy,” Aaron mumbled, blinking rapidly. “I mean, y-yes. We’re all responsible for it, bu-but it was T-Tommy a-…an’ Roy who…”

His voice trailed off, the sentence remaining unfinished. Linda sensed his unease, and redirected the conversation.

“I thought it was only Roy. He was the one who tackled that one lawyer, right?”

Aaron laughed, sheepishly. “Yeah, that-that was him.” He chewed the inside of his cheek. “I didn’t t-tell Mr. Vail ‘bout… the others. Four, s’ far as I know.”

Now it was Linda’s turn to stare at Aaron in shock. “Four? So you’re sharing a brain with five other people?” Aaron nodded. “That must be… cramped.”

“You got n-no idea.”

An’ we love you too, Aaron.

I meant that as a compliment, Roy!

“Anyway,” she hummed, tapping her nails against the table, “I’m glad any one of you did it. He deserved it.”

The memories of the tapes came and went over the years—it was all a blur. Sawyer kept most of those memories, but even still, Aaron remembered feeling… wrong. Worst of all, he remembered Linda being at the center of it all. Used.

Reaching forward, Aaron set a hand on Linda’s wrist. The touch was evidently a shock, with Linda flinching. As if electrocuted, Aaron jerked away.

“S-Sorry,” he apologized. “Jus’—you didn’t deserve that.”

A frown formed on her lips, the corner of her mouth twitching. “Neither did you.”

They sat in silence, not speaking a word. The tense air spoke enough for the both of them.

Then, almost tearful, Linda looked up at Aaron and said, “I’m sorry for leaving you.”

Now she apologizes?

Roy, keep your damn mouth shut.

Not like she can hear me!

“Hey,” Aaron assured her, ignoring his headmates, “s’ alright—”

“No, you don’t get it.” Linda set her coffee aside, her body slumped in the chair, a hand over her stomach. “Aaron, I… I was pregnant.”

Aaron went stiff. They’d had sex quite a few times, but it was physically impossible for him to have gotten her pregnant, so that must have meant—

“Rushman.”

Her bottom lip quivered as she gave him a solemn nod. “It was the second time. The first time, the Archbishop sent me to a… shady clinic, and I went alone. I didn’t want you finding out.”

“Linda—”

“The second time, I was ashamed. I was too young to have kids, and I couldn’t go back there. So I ran away. From the Savior House, from you…”

All of it seemed to be hitting her at once. Hiding her face in her hands, the damn burst open and Linda sobbed, her shoulders trembling. Instinctively, Aaron rushed over to her—almost spilling his own coffee—and held her in his arms. She reciprocated the embrace, weeping into his shoulder as her whole body shook.

“Hey… Hey s’ okay.” His voice held a comforting, soothing tone. “It wasn’t your fault, y-you did what you thought was right.”

“But I still hurt you, Aaron.” She took in a shaky breath. “You h-had to endure Rushman’s abuse alone.”

“Still here, ain’t I?”

“Heh,” Linda wiped away her tears, “yeah, that’s true.”

Aaron let go of the embrace, and for a moment, their gazes met. He held his breath—even through bleary eyes Linda was still just as beautiful now as she was back then. He wanted to lean down to kiss her, taste her lips to show how much he cared. The ring on her finger held him back.

Instead, he cleared his throat, breaking the tension. “So, uh… figured you want t’get out of here. Adam an’ George are prolly waitin’ for you.”

“Yeah,” she sniffed, laughing weakly, “you’re right about that.”

Linda stood up to chug the rest of her coffee. She started heading towards the front entrance before stopping herself.

“Oh wait, one more thing!”

She went to grab a napkin from the kitchen counter, pulling out a pen and scribbling something down. The napkin was handed to Aaron, and when he observed it he saw a number and an address had been written on it.

“In case you want to find me.” Linda beamed at him, and he couldn’t help but smile back at her. “I won’t run away this time.”

As a sort of goodbye, she pulled Aaron in for one final hug. He almost didn’t want to let go, wanting to savor the comforting feeling for just a moment. Reluctantly, he pulled back.

He watched Linda leave, that same bittersweet feeling from earlier overcoming him. He wanted to reach out to her, beg for her to stay, but she had her own life. She had a family now, and he shouldn’t be stuck living in the past. They were on their own separate paths.

Just as she put her hand over the front door handle, she turned towards Aaron with a glossy look in her eyes.

“Thank you… for everything.” She lifted her hand, wiping at the single tear that rolled down her cheek. “I’ll always love you.”

With a turn of the handle, Linda Forbes disappeared out of sight.

A couple days had passed since Linda’s visit, and the system had hoped that everything would return to normal. Aaron was planning on giving Linda a call later in the day, perhaps even visiting her, though they’d have to work towards getting a driver’s license if they truly wanted any freedom.

At the moment, Aaron wasn’t fronting, however. Surprisingly, this time it was Tommy, though they hadn’t quite spoken properly since he and Sawyer had admitted to their ruse. Flirting with the employees in the halfway house didn’t seem to fare well for him either, and half the residents either called him a slur or rejected his advances.

I mean, you are kind of a whore.

“Shut up, Sawyer,” Tommy whispered, finishing with their current chore of wiping down one of the dining tables. His eyes flickered to the window—it was nearly dusk.

Jus’ sayin’ it like it is, Tom.

“Uh-huh.”

Scratching the back of his neck, Tommy set his cleaning supplies aside. He’d only just turned on the faucet to wash his hands when one of the employees approached him.

“Stampler?”

Tommy lifted his gaze, turning to the man speaking to him as he pumped soap into his palm. “Yeah? s’ me.”

“You got mail.”

Cocking his head to the side, Tommy wiped his hands on a towel and approached the employee, who handed him a manila envelope. Muttering a soft “thanks,” Tommy began the trek towards his room, turning the package over in his hands and reading the address scribbled onto it. In the top left corner, written in black permanent marker, Tommy read the name Rudi Hines.

Rudi Hines? We don’t know any Rudi Hines.

Wrong address?

How many Aaron Stamplers you think there are in the world?

Entering his room, Tommy situated himself on the bed and ripped open the top of the envelope. It was light, practically empty, and when he reached inside, he pulled out—

Oh, Christ. Oh Christ.

—a ring. Archbishop Rushman’s ring.

The ring scattered to the floor, having fallen from Tommy’s grasp. He jumped up from the bed, staring in horror.

“What the fuck,” he gasped, squinting. He was afraid to get any closer. “What the fuck is that?”

Jesus.

“You saw it too.”

His ring.

Nausea washed over their body in an incredible wave. Tommy swayed.

“Who—” Tommy shook wildly. “Who the fuck is Rudi Hines?”

I don’t fuckin’ know. I don’t know, Tom.

What the fuck is goin’ on?

“Okay.” He flapped his hand anxiously. “Okayokayokay—we have to hide it.”

That’s jus’ gonna make us look suspicious!

Tommy picked up the ring. “Better than havin’ to see it out in the open! Besides, it’s not like we aren’t already suspicious. Nobody fuckin’ trusts us!”

Yeah, okay, good point—how ‘bout under the pillow?

He started pacing around the room. “No, that’ll be too obvious.”

Under the mattress?

“You ever read Princess an’ the Pea? Absolutely not.”

Somewhere in the bathroom, maybe?

Tommy pondered Sawyer’s words for a second before quickly bolting into the bathroom. Without a moment’s thought, he opened the cabinet under the sink and tossed the ring inside. It rattled loudly upon impact but there wasn’t any major damage to it.

He let out a big sigh of relief. “Thank fuckin’ god that’s over. Now let’s jus’ forget the damn thing. No more Rushman, No more Rudi Hines. Jus’ one normal day.”

A loud knocking was heard at the door.

“Goddammit.”

He begrudgingly walked over to open it and was met face to face with the same staff member from only moments ago.

“Pardon me again, Stampler, but there are two men up front who would like to speak with you.”

Tommy groaned. He really wasn’t in the mood to speak with anybody else today. Especially not after the mail he had just received—but who knows? Maybe these two guys were more familiar faces from the Savior House coming by to catch up for lost time.

Reluctantly, he followed after the staff member. The journey didn’t take long as after a short while Tommy was met with two unfamiliar men. One of them was short and stubby, while the other was tall and lean. The short man looked to be about his fifties, while the taller one looked around his thirties.

Nuthin’ from what I remember.

Yeah, no kiddin’.

The shorter one of the two men was the first to speak. “Good evening, I assume you must be Mr. Aaron Stampler, correct?”

Put on the face, I don’t trust these guys

Using his best ‘Aaron’ impression, Tommy nodded. “Y-Yes sir.”

“Good. I am Harvey St. Claire, this is my associate Ben Meyer.” He motioned towards the taller man. “We work with the Illinois State Police, we would like to ask you a few questions if you don’t mind.”

Tommy’s heart sank. Their actions were coming back to haunt them once again. Did they know about the ring?

Ben Meyer spoke up next. “Do you happen to know a woman by the name of Linda Balfour? Maiden name Forbes?”

Tommy could feel the color draining out of him. Did something happen to her? They just spoke with her a few days ago, what could’ve happened between now and then?

Swallowing the anxiety, his voice came out shakier than he would’ve liked. “Y-Yes sir, I d-do. She’s an… an old friend o’ mine.”

St. Claire nodded solemnly. “Mhm, alright. Do you remember what you were doing yesterday on the evening of June the 25th?”

Fear really started to settle in this time. Did this have something to do with the Rudi Hines person that sent them Rushman’s ring? The thought made Tommy nauseous all over again.

“I was… was doin’ chores ‘round t-the house. Doin’ laundry, cleanin’ the kitchen, that s-sort of thing.”

“Do you have any knowledge of what happened yesterday on the evening of June the 25th?”

Tommy shook his head. “N-No sir, no sir, I don’t.”

St. Claire looked up at Meyer for a moment, whispering something to him that Tommy couldn’t quite make out. Meyer made a motion towards the front door with his head before the two men turned back to the other man in front of them.

“I’m afraid you’re gonna have to come with us, Mr. Stampler.” St. Claire made a motion with his hand. “We’ll need to bring you in for more questioning.”

Anxiety billowed up inside of Tommy. He wasn’t even that close with Linda, but even he feared the worst. It was like the lies he and Sawyer had said all those years ago were coming back to haunt him.

He shook his head wildly. “Questioning? W-What do you mean questioning? Wh-What happened to Linda?!”

The two policemen looked at each other once and then back to Tommy, a puzzled look on their face.

“Well, didn’t you see the news?” Meyer paused for a moment. “Linda Balfour was murdered yesterday.”

Chapter Text

For the first time in his life, Tommy struggled to maintain the “Aaron Stampler” persona. The two cops he met earlier that day, Harvey St Claire and Ben Meyer, brought him into the station about the murder of Linda Balfour. The details of the murder filled him with a sense of dread, not only because Aaron’s dearly beloved was killed not too long after he spoke with her, but also because the murder was eerily similar to the Archbishop‘s murder.

Tommy was sitting at a table in the middle of a dull, gray room. St. Claire was sitting across from him, notebook sitting in front of him, while Meyer was standing a little bit behind him with a folder in his hand.

“Okay, Mr. Stampler.” St. Claire had said. “I know you stated earlier today that you were at Trinity Sober Living yesterday at the time the murder took place, correct?”

The words were caught in Tommy’s throat, unable to speak. Instead he simply nodded, not wanting to look St. Claire in the eyes.

“Do you have anybody at Trinity that can attest to your alibi?”

“T-The management.” His hands were shaking as he spoke. “There w-were… a few workers ‘round the place. Some residents t-too.”

St. Claire nodded as he scribbled something down on his notepad. “Now, are you aware of what happened to Mrs. Balfour on the day she was killed?”

Tommy shook his head, and in turn St. Claire motioned for Meyer to bring the folder. He placed it down on the table, flipping it open to reveal several brutal crime scene photos, all at various different angles. The gruesomeness of the pictures made Tommy feel sick; It took him every ounce of the body to not vomit on the floor right then and there.

We can’t ever let Aaron find out ‘bout those pictures. Jesus fuckin’ Christ—it would break the poor guy.

No kiddin’, but we have to tell him about her death regardless. Can’t have ‘im findin’ out the hard way like last time.

Ben Meyer took a step forward. “Based on what is depicted here in these photos.” He pointed towards the bloody pictures. “We can conclude Mrs. Balfour was stabbed, cut, and incised fifty six times at her home on Poplar Street. One of these cuts appeared on her throat—so deep it’s a miracle she wasn’t decapitated. However it caused aero-embolism, which resulted in an instantaneous death.”

Tommy barely had time to process before St. Claire spoke up next.

“There were wounds on her hands and arms, indicating a struggle might’ve happened before she was killed. It also appears that both of Mrs. Balfour’s nipples and clitoris were amputated and placed in her mouth.” He then pointed to a specific picture amongst the group. “As you can see here, the inscription ‘C13.489’ was carved into the rear end of her skull.”

It took Tommy a whole minute to understand everything the two had said. Not only was Linda murdered in such a brutal fashion, but she was murdered in a way that was nearly identical to how he and Roy killed Archbishop Rushman. She didn’t deserve this, she shouldn’t have been killed with such brutality.

A pig like Rushman deserved every bit of what he got, but an innocent lamb like Linda should’ve been able to live the life she was deprived off. She should’ve lived a happy life with a loving husband and their wonderful children. Whoever this killer was, they were most definitely trying to frame Aaron.

The whole thing made Tommy feel dizzy.

“Now I understand, Mr. Stampler, that the way Mrs. Balfour was killed mirrors the way you murdered Archbishop Rushman back in ‘95, does it not?” St. Claire observed Tommy with suspicion.

“Assumin’ you’re thinkin’ I had a part in it?” His voice came out a little more natural to his own tone than he would’ve liked, but the two didn’t seem to take notice of the slip up.

St. Claire nodded. “Correct, but we still need to question the staff at the halfway home before we make any more conclusions.”

Tommy lowered his head in shame. Of course they were the prime suspect in another murder case. The whole state of Illinois knew about what they did, and if they ever learn about what happened to Linda they would never be able to find peace.

“Now before we let you go we would like to show you something that may seem familiar to you.” St. Claire motioned towards Meyer once again, who placed down a book on the table. “Do you happen to know this book?”

Upon further inspection, Tommy recognized the novel as The Merchant of Venice by William Shakespeare. He never cared for Shakespearean plays, but he knew someone who did.

‘ey waitaminute—I know this book! This looks like the one I used to read back at the Savior House. I always loved readin’ Shakespeare, always wanted to be in a show ‘bout one of his plays. The hell is it doin’ here?

As if he could hear Sawyer’s words, St Claire piped up, “Assuming you recognize it, do you not?”

Tommy blinked a couple of times before nodding. “Yeah—Yes sir I do. B-Bishop Rushman had a copy of it in his l-library. Read a little bit of it m’self but n-…never did finish it.”

“Hmm, I see.” St. Claire scribbled another thing down in his notepad. “Well based on the inscription written on Ms. Balfour’s skull, we have discovered the writing is in connection to this book. When we flipped to page 489, we found a passage that had been highlighted.” He made another motion to his associate. “Meyer, if you may?”

As if on command, the man picked up the book, quickly flipping to the aforementioned page number. He cleared his throat before stating the following passage:

“In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt
But, being season’d with a gracious voice,
Obscures the show of evil?”

A chill ran down Tommy’s spine as Ben Meyer placed the book back down on the table. Was the killer trying to make a reference about Vail? That the plea he made was to obscure ‘the truth’, that Aaron and the rest of the system were evil? How would the killer make the conclusion they were all evil—the entire state of Illinois knew what Rushman did, and Aaron was proven to be not guilty by reason of insanity.

Did the killer somehow know of the lie Tommy and Sawyer made towards Vail? Were the sins of their mistakes finally coming back to haunt them? Was God going to punish them for what they thought was right?

“Mr. Stampler?”

Meyer and St. Claire were staring at him now, expecting an answer. Tommy jolted somewhat, broken from his disjointed thoughts. When he spoke, he sounded genuinely desperate

“I to-told you,” he said, “I didn’t finish it. Didn’t get p-p-…past page 300.”

He looked over at the crime scene photos again, against his better judgment. He swallowed thickly.

“Why would I highlight a page I di-didn’t even read? An’…An’ ‘sides that, I ain’t b-been to the Archbishop’s library since I was sent to D-Daisyland.”

St. Claire regarded Tommy for a moment. He shared a glance with Meyer and leaned his back up against the wall.

“Right,” scoffed Meyer. “Y’know, I vaguely remember the trial, but I recall that shrink of yours, ah… what did she say you had?”

Fuck.

St. Claire supplied, “Multiple personality disorder, I think. Like, uh, Sybil.”

“It’s dissociative identity disorder,” Tommy said, an edge to his tone, not too happy at the fact that he and the entire system were being mocked. “Ain’t a p-personality disorder.”

“Uh-huh.” Meyer waved his hand dismissively. “Fact of the matter is, that lawyer of yours was trying to prove that you didn’t do it—the evil side of you did.”

There it was again: evil. Tommy would hardly categorize Roy as evil. Either way, he wasn’t alone in committing the murder. Didn’t everyone understand how far they’d been pushed until they snapped? Didn’t they realize how scared and helpless they felt?

“‘Roy,’ I believe was his name,” St. Claire spoke, crossed his arms over his chest. “What we’re implying, Mr. Stampler, is that there’s a very real possibility that this ‘Roy’ personality of yours could’ve killed again.”

Can’t have one day of peace, can we? Tommy thought with a groan. One goddamn day.

“No.” There was a shake of his head. “It ain’t p-possible.”

“And why’s that?” Meyer asked, curious.

“‘Cause—”

Fumbling with his words, Tommy knew he had to think quickly. Give them reasonable doubt.

“—Roy’s gone.”

Fuck. Damn it, that won’t work.

Now he has the officers’ attention. Meyer stepped forward, leaning in. “Gone? What’s that supposed t’ mean?”

Goddamn it.

Keep a cool head, Tom. You got this.

“What I mean is,” Tommy began, leaning over the table, “when I-I was sent to Daisyland, I worked with a doctor: Dr. Woodward. He-He knew he had to help me with Ro-Roy.”

The lie wove itself deeper. How Tommy prayed this wouldn’t come back to them later.

“Through med-medication an’ therapy, Roy was g-gone, leavin’ jus’ me now. I was f-free.”

His heart ached as he returned his attention to the photos again, grimacing. On occasion, Tommy had fronted around Linda, particularly during their sexual encounters. Unlike with many other partners, particularly women, he hadn’t been overtly rough or domineering. With Linda, he savored the time they spent together, even if she never formally met him.

He remembered what he said in that cell to Martin Vail, all those years ago: “That cunt got what she deserved.” How he wished he could take it back now.

Aaron may have been in love with Linda, but Tommy loved her.

“I’d n-never do this to her,” he admitted, sounding smaller than ever. “I loved Linda. We w-was gonna get married.”

“You held no ill will towards her?” St. Claire asked. “Even after she ran away? I understand you two were living together.”

Roy did. Even still, Roy resented her for abandoning them. Yet Tommy doubted he could be cruel enough to act as if he didn’t care that she’d been so brutally butchered.

Sighing, Tommy shook his head. “No, sir. Told me herself that she-she was afraid. Was pregnant with…with Bishop Rushman’s child a second time.”

She was eighteen then, only a year Aaron’s junior. The tapes had begun when she was sixteen.

Meyer gaped at what he was hearing. “A second time?”

Tommy nodded. “Rushman ha-had already forced her to get an abortion ‘fore that. Dunno when. Was gonna make her g-go again, but she w-…was afraid.”

“Considering she only has one son, I’m assuming she went through with it again?”

“She never m-mentioned it when we last spoke. Assumed s-…she had another abortion or maybe… somethin’ went wrong.”

Meyer nodded solemnly to himself before whispering something to St. Claire, who quickly jotted something down in his notepad. Suddenly they both turned towards Tommy.

“Okay. Mr. Stampler, for the time being we’ll need to keep you detained. We’ll need to question some of the people around the halfway house, as well any others who knew Ms. Balfour personally.” St. Claire stood up from his seat. “Can’t find her husband for the life of us.”

Tommy rubbed at his wrist, his head shooting up in alarm. “Y’all c-can’t find ‘im?!”

“Nope—well at least we haven’t so far. We’ve talked with the hospital he works at, family members, you name it. Nobody knows of his whereabouts.” St. Claire leaned back against the table. “So far his son is the only connection to Mrs. Balfour that we have, but of course he’s not much help. Poor child was found in his crib at the scene of the crime.”

The mental image of young little Adam having to watch his mother get slaughtered in his own room made Tommy feel sick. He didn’t deserve to watch his mama get killed, he deserved to grow up with a happy family. He’ll be forced to grow up with a dead mother and a missing father.

“That’s…That’s t-terrible.” Tommy could feel the tears welling in his eyes. “I hope Adam i-is okay.”

This time Meyer chimed in, “He’s fine. We had him sent to a hospital to check for any injuries and so far he’s doing great. Until we find the whereabouts of Mrs. Balfour’s husband, that’s where he’ll be staying.”

Tommy let out a small sigh of relief. Amidst the horror of the gruesome murder, there was still some good news to be told. Perhaps there’s a little bit of hope left after all?

“How long’ll I be ke-kept here?”

St. Claire regarded Tommy with a hum. “Shouldn’t be more than a couple of hours.”

Slumping in his seat, Tommy hung his head.

Four hours later, Tommy was released after sufficient investigation. His alibi was airtight, and the folks at Trinity could contend to having seen him—them—in the hours leading up to and during Linda’s murder.

With that, Tommy left the station with the two men. The car ride back was more or less a blur to him, with him barely aware of what was happening around him, even as they dropped him off and said their goodbyes.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Linda, and how she was brutally murdered in the same way he killed Rushman, and how poor little Adam had to watch the whole thing transpire. It made him feel sick, nauseous, almost unable to hold everything together.

None of them deserved this. Adam deserves to have his mama, Linda should still be here. God, this is all my fault.

When Tommy got back to Trinity, he immediately headed up to his room, going straight for his bathroom. His mouth was wet; he barely had enough time to register before the nausea became too much for him. He nearly collapsed as he vomited down into the sink.

He had himself propped onto the sink, hands gripping at the tiled surface. He felt himself heaving, snot and tears streamed down his face. Everything felt like it was all crashing down.

Do ya need me to take over for a bit?

No. No ‘m fine, I jus’ need t’rest. I can’t let Aaron see me like this.

Weakly, Tommy turned the faucet over to one side to let the water wash down the vile substance. Like holy water washes away the sins of the world. Once he saw all of the vomit was gone, he turned the faucet back over.

His legs wobbled as he stumbled across his room, practically crashing down into his bed. There was a deep pressure within his chest, a pit of sadness that weighed him down. He turned over to stare blankly at the ceiling.

I jus’ need t’be strong.

With a sigh, he let his eyes close shut, allowing sleep to take over. As everything began to slip away, he silently prayed someone else would take his place.

It was around 8:00 in the morning when the body woke again, shuddering. Their throat hurt; a foul taste lingered on their tongue. Had they thrown up? Who was fronting?

Eyelids fluttering shut, it took a couple seconds of debate—Aaron, Roy, Sawyer—until it was settled: Aaron had taken the front seat. He hadn’t fronted almost all day, and he abruptly sat upright, disoriented. The first thing he did was grab for their notebook, stuffed in a drawer in the nightstand, and he flipped to the latest page.

The latest date was yesterday. Otherwise, it was blank. Aaron had no memory of what happened in the past several hours.

“To-Tommy?” Aaron shut the book, realizing now how truly ill and exhausted he felt. Physically, he was worn out. “Sawyer? Ro-Roy?”

Aaron, came Tommy’s voice, monotone and broken. Hey.

Something was up.

“What’s goin’ on?”

Dunno how to tell you this nicely, kiddo.

Swaying where he sat, Aaron blinked hard. “Tell me what, Tommy?”

It’s Linda. She’s dead.

Aaron’s world came screeching to a halt.

He opened his mouth, trying to speak, choking on his words.

“She-She…”

She was murdered, Aaron. Same way Rushman was.

The gruesome image of Bishop Rushman’s mangled corpse flashed in their mind. Multiple stab wounds, gaping holes where his eyes should’ve been, numbers carved into his chest, genitals—

For a brief moment, Aaron remembered hugging a crying Linda, the sweet smell of her shampoo. Gripping onto the bedcovers, he burst into tears, falling forward and pressing his forehead into the mattress.

“No,” he hiccuped, “no, no, please… please, not her, not Linda—”

Aaron—

“Oh, God!”

He was wailing now, shoving his face into the covers, tears and snot and saliva dampening the material. His body trembled, not unlike a frightened animal, and he couldn’t stop crying, rocking back and forth.

Linda was gone. Not only that, she had been cut up into pieces.

“Oh,” Aaron moaned, his heart shattering to pieces, “Linda, Linda please, p-please, I’m so-sorry, God, G-G—fuck…”

Aaron, it’s gonna be okay. Hey.

There was little Tommy’s words could do. All Aaron wanted to do now was crawl into a hole and rot there for all eternity. Linda was the only other person he had left—he loved her. He promised he’d protect her.

Didn’t keep my promise. Dirty liar. Dirty, dirty liar.

Shhh, Aaron…

Pillows were thrown, sheets sprawled all over the floor. The one love he had in his life, the only person who loved him without having any sort of malicious intent—she was gone. Gone forever, and there wasn’t anything he could do about it.

“I-I jus’ want her back.” His breath hitched between sobs. “God—sh-she didn’t d-deserve t’die.”

I know, kiddo. I know.

He broke out in loud sobs once again, his cries practically bouncing off the walls. Nothing else mattered to him anymore. He didn’t care about Hydra, he didn’t care about Martin Vail, he didn’t even care about Rebecca. All he cared about was Linda, and she was gone.

He still could remember the warm feeling her hugs were. How caring and loving they were, so safe despite the circumstances they were in. He never was going to find love like that again, was he?

Angel? A heavenly voice called out.

Aaron’s head shot up. “M-Mama?”

I’m right here, angel. It’s gonna be alright.

Eva’s voice was soft and soothing. The comforting tone helped him calm down a bit, but the tears still fell.

“‘m s-so sorry, Mama.” He hiccuped in between shaky breaths. “I-I should’ve b-been there f-for her.”

It’s not your fault, honey. You didn’t know.

Aaron couldn’t even find any more words to stay before he broke out in sobs once again. It was like he was back home, his mama comforting him after he just got a beating from his old man. He was so scared, so afraid. He just wanted to be held in her arms again. He just wanted to feel safe again.

He didn’t even remember how the rest of the day went, it all went by in a dissociative blur—barely felt like himself. He couldn’t focus on anything else other than Linda. How she was chopped and carved just like Rushman. It made him nauseous—sick to his stomach.

By the end of the day, he hardly had any sense of the world around him. Darkness crept into his vision, His headache pounding against his skull. As he allowed sleep to overtake him, he pictured Linda. He pictured her happy and smiling, the same way she did the last time he saw her.

He pictured her reaching out to him—cradling his face. Her touch was warm. He still could smell the sweet scent of her shampoo as she leaned closer to him; she was only inches away from Aaron. He could only just feel the touch of her lips before the darkness consumed everything around him.

He was left alone in the dark—Linda Forbes was gone.

“I don’t want to lecture you again, Thomas.”

The living room in their inner world was looking worse for wear. Tommy, sitting on one of the sofas, didn’t say a word. He picked at the worn material of the armrest, cigarette hanging loosely between his lips. It was gloomy outside, gray and rainy.

Before him, Gabriel paced the room up and down. It appeared as though he hadn’t slept in some time, despite sleep for them in headspace being virtually impossible. Regardless, they were tired, unmistakably so.

Across from Tommy was Sawyer, sat up in the loveseat and watching, silent. Roy was even present, standing in the doorway to the kitchen, flicking his zippo and lighting his cigarette. Evangeline was nowhere in sight, though that was for the better.

The weight of the world was on all of their shoulders.

“Gabriel,” Tommy’s voice cut through the silence, “I don’t think my lie about Roy is the biggest issue right now.”

The priest faltered, halting his nervous pacing. His arms, folded over his chest, fell to his sides. Exhaling, he ran his hands down his face.

“Still.” Gabriel nodded in Tommy’s direction. “I think someone outside of Woodward should know about us.”

Tommy rolled his eyes, crossing a leg over the other. “So what?” Taking a drag from his cigarette, two fingers removed it from his lips, smoke billowing from his nostrils. “You know why they brought me—brought Aaron in. Linda’s dead.”

“Murdered,” Sawyer corrected, staring straight at the floor. “Jus’ like Rushman.”

Roy laughed, bitterly, shocking the rest of them, who all turned to look at him. “Down t’ the fuckin’ Dewey decimal system. Great job, Tom.”

The laugh grated on Tommy’s ears, enraging him. He stood, stomping over Roy, towering over him with ease.

“Shut your mouth.” Smoke blew right in Roy’s face as he spoke, and the man didn’t even flinch. “You didn’t give a fuck ‘bout Linda. Last thing you ever said about her? You were callin’ her a bitch.”

Something shifted inside Roy. His gaze hardened as he lifted his head to look Tommy in the eye, scowling. A hand reached forward, grabbing onto Tommy’s shirt collar and tugging him down to his level.

“You don’t know jack shit, faggot.”

“HEY! Hey—!”

Sensing the rising tension, Sawyer jumped to his feet, rushing over to the pair and immediately standing between them. Roy pulling that card meant business.

“Cut it out, you bozos. Fuck’s the matter with ya, Roy?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Roy gave a backhand slap to Sawyer’s chest. “Maybe it’s the fact a certain someone lied again jus’ t’save his own ass.”

Tommy tried pushing towards him. “You know good an’ god damn well why I had to lie. Aaron was a suspect an’ any hints of more of us would’ve made him more suspicious!”

Roy scoffed. “Yeah, so you had to fuckin’ ratt out the one person who’s been dubbed as ‘the evil alter’ by the entire damn state of Illinois.”

“What other choice did I have? You admitted to killin’ Rushman an’ you just had to show your face at the trial.”

“You try bein’ shown off like some circus animal to the whole fuckin’ state!” He pushed against Sawyer’s grasp. “That ol’ bastard Marty brought out that fuckin’ pedophile jus’ so I would show up! I was never treated like a person.”

This time, Tommy started pushing forward. “That don’t excuse throwin’ around petty slurs jus’ to one up me!”

“Maybe if you didn’t whore yourself out to every man you laid eyes on I wouldn’t have to say it.”

“Why you little—”

“OKAY THAT’S ENOUGH!” Sawyer finally pushed the two men apart. “I’ve had enough of you two!”

He pointed to Roy first.

“You! Quit spewin’ hateful bullshit. Linda was murdered, tortured like Rushman, and the last thing we need is you pullin’ out playground level insults!” He smacked Roy across the face, jolting him. “You’re better than that!”

He pointed to Tommy next.

“And you! I thought youse was done wit’ the lyin’! After we got our asses chewed out by Gabe over there I thought that would be the end of it! I know you did it to save Aaron from suspicion but sooner or later you’re gonna say somethin’ that’s gonna cost us big time. Quit it!”

He dished out another smack, this time on Tommy.

“Now I want you two to step away from each other. Tommy, you go finish ya cig outside.” He motioned towards the front door. “Roy, go… up to your room or somethin’, I dunno. I just want you two to stay as far apart from one another as possible.”

“Or else what?” Roy laughed, a cynical sound, rubbing his cheek. “Like you ever do anythin’ ‘round here. I’m not listenin’ to another pansy faggot like you.”

Red blinded Sawyer the moment Roy spoke. He grabbed him by the shirt of his collar, easily lifting him up.

“I dunno who the fuck you think you’re talkin’ to, bub,” growled Sawyer, “but I will not hesitate to break your damn nose again. I’ve had to deal with your bullshit for who knows how long, and quite frankly, I am tired of it. You ever say that shit ‘round me again and I will give you somethin’ worse than a broken nose, you understand me?”

He dropped Roy onto the floor, and for once, he couldn’t seem to find the words to reply. He simply hopped up without another word and walked up the stairs, cigarette still in hand.

Sawyer turned over to Tommy, who lifted his hands up as if he was surrendering. Cigarette still in his mouth, he turned towards the front door and disappeared out of sight.

With a long sigh, Sawyer flopped down onto the sofa, rubbing at his eyes. He never did like having to resort to threats when it came to Roy. He was one of his closest friends. Gabriel sensed the tension and decided to sit on the arm rest beside the man.

“You didn’t have to do all that, you know,” Gabe stated.

“I’m well aware, but I couldn’t just let them fight. I don’t like seein’ them fight!”

Sawyer groaned as he leaned back into the cushions. He rubbed the side of his temple. “It’s like watchin’ your two best friends be seconds away from killin’ each other. And plus—hearin’ Roy say those words despite… well, y’know.” He made a motion to himself. “It hurts. Never would’a thought he would resort to such a thing.”

Gabriel gave a comforting pat to Sawyer. “God will forgive him in due time. For now, there’s more important things to keep an eye on.”

Sawyer let out a sigh. “I hope Aaron’s doin’ okay. I heard he took the news of Linda’s death pretty hard.”

“Can’t blame him. She was the only person who gave him a love that was genuine. The same goes for you as well.”

It was true. While Sawyer didn’t love Linda like the others, he did care about her—a lot. Knowing now what she’d gone through and the pain she endured, the brutality of her murder was more than a tragedy, but a sickening, disgusting act.

“Fuckin’ hell, Gabe,” he groaned, “someone’s out there. I don’t wanna say what I’m thinkin’, after seein’ that ‘beware the fox’ thing—”

“She,” Gabriel interrupted, “is not capable of this. Rebecca would not fall to such levels of depravity. She was a disgusting human being, but she wasn’t a cold-blooded killer.”

If that were the case, what did that make them? There was a fraction of a second that Sawyer considered asking Gabriel this, yet he couldn’t bring himself to.

Instead, he asked, “Then who?”

“I don’t know, Sawyer. I don’t know.”

Chapter Text

The tool fell from their hands. It was dark, hard to see anything, even with the flashlights on their helmets. The shouting was loud, distinguishable amongst the clinking of sharpened steel upon rock. Knees wobbling with every step, they reached out and grasped onto the shirt of—someone.

A loud crack sounded out. There was a gasp, and then…

Nothing. Nothingness. Loneliness. Sticky, warm blood on their hands. The gleam of a knife’s blade.

Linda Forbes’ dead body.

In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt
But, being season’d with a gracious voice,
Obscures the show of evil?

At three in the morning, Aaron awoke with a gasp. His shirt clung to him, a layer of cold sweat shining on his skin. His chest ached, worse than his head, and he reached over to the nightstand for the bottle of ibuprofen. Had he taken his medication last night? It was hard to say.

Aaron switched on his bedside lamp and swung his legs over the side of the bed, ibuprofen secured in one hand. Standing, he shuffled into the tiny kitchen, grabbed a glass from the cabinet, and filled it with tap water.

A groaning sound alerted his attention. Whipping his head around, Aaron almost dropped his glass, when—

“Aaron—?”

His posture sagged. Jack—he’d completely forgotten about his roommate. The man hardly spoke to him, usually only around to eat breakfast and sleep. So, seeing him now, in the middle of the night, was enough to startle a half-asleep Aaron.

“H-Hey, Jack,” Stampler mumbled, popping two tablets in his mouth and washing them down with cold tap water. “Sc-Scare-Scared me for a se-sec-…m-minute.”

“Sorry.” Jack chuckled, lifting his head from his pillow, “Didn’t mean to scare you. You doing okay?”

“F-Fine,” Aaron lied, dragging himself back to bed now, wincing. A hand pressed against his chest, which was around the time he realized that he was still wearing his binder. No wonder he was struggling to breathe.

Blissful silence hung between them for a few moments. Aaron began removing the garment, careful not to show Jack as he slid his arms out of the straps.

The peace didn’t last.

“Heard you got arrested the other day.”

Aaron paused, frowning. “A-Arrested?”

“That’s what they’re saying,” Jack replied, rolling on his side, back facing his roommate. “‘The Butcher Boy of St. Michael’s in custody again,’ something like that. Saw it on the news, and I recognized you.” He lifted his head. “Is it true? You got multiple personalities?”

How wonderful. The system had found freedom, and their past continued to haunt them. The insanity plea was their ticket out of the death penalty, at the cost of their diagnosis being made public to everyone.

Holding his breath, Aaron didn’t respond. Instead, he faked a yawn and switched off the light, complaining, “I-I’m tired. Can-Can ask me ‘bout it later.”

His binder slipped off and thrown to the floor, Aaron crawled back under his covers, grateful that Jack didn’t speak up again. It wasn’t enough that he’d been faced with the death of an ex-lover—his reputation as a “nut case” continued to be perpetuated in the years following the trial. They would never escape it.

Just as Aaron’s heavy eyelids had begun to flutter closed, the phone at his nightstand rang. Jerking up from where he laid, Aaron grumbled to himself, rubbing his eyes. He reached over to pick the phone up from the receiver, holding it to his ear as he rested his head against his pillow.

“Hello?”

“Yo, uh… hey, Aaron.”

Aaron’s face went pale. He recognized the voice instantly.

“Alex?” His voice lowered to a hushed murmur. “Alex, s’ that y-you?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Linda told me you were still out there so… figured I’d give a ring.”

“Y-You were in contact with her?”

“Tsh—of course I was. Once I split from the church I ended up at the same shelter as her. We grew close during our stay there”

Aaron fiddled with the sheets. “Oh, d-does that mean…?”

“That I heard the news? Yeah… Yeah I did. Horrible what happened to her.”

Aaron could still imagine the murder scene in his head. Her body all chopped up, some book passage marked onto her—he felt nauseous. He prayed and hoped at the very least Linda was already dead before the killer did anything else to her.

“You still there?”

Alex's voice broke Aaron from his lingering thoughts—almost startling him.

“Y-Yeah, ‘m still here.”

“Look uh—I know it’s pretty late, and you’re probably itching to go back to sleep but I wanted to ask. Did you… wanna catch up or somethin’? I can pick you up tomorrow and we can do whatever.”

A warm feeling came over Aaron. It would be nice to catch up with an old friend, or old acquaintance really. He doesn’t even remember being that close with Alex back at the Savior House, but after the death of Linda he’d welcome any sort of friendship.

He smiled to himself. “Yeah… Yeah, I-I’d like tha’ very much.”

“Alright—what time, and what’s the name of the place you’re stayin’ at?”

“‘round twelve is fine, an’ it-it’s Trinity S-Sober Livin’.”

“Sweet, I’ll see you tomorrow then. See ya.”

“Bye.”

Click!

Aaron placed the phone back down on the receiver, proceeding to fall back onto the bed. He looked over at Jack, who was now facing him but was long asleep. He could still see the scar that was in between the man’s eyebrows even from across the room. With a sigh, he pulled the sheets over him and stared blankly at the ceiling.

He wasn’t sure if he would be able to go back to sleep tonight, not when that dream still lingered in his mind. The image of Linda’s dead body and the stickiness of the blood was forever burned into his brain. Sleep or not though, he still had something to look forward to—something good.

It’d be nice seeing another familiar face that didn’t hate him or wasn’t dead.

Alex pulled up to the building at a quarter to noon the next day, right up to the front entrance. With yet another familiar face resurfacing, of course the rest of the system had their concerns. The lack of sleep wasn’t helpful either.

Never liked Alex.

Shit, I thought he died.

Didn’t he get arrested?

Vail said he attacked one of ‘is friends, way back. Alex always did have a temper.

Aaron, you sure this is a good idea?

“s’ gonna be fine,” he muttered to himself, stepping out the front door. “He ain’t gonna hurt me.”

In these ten years that had passed, Alex had changed. He’d grown out his hair, now shoulder length, and he adorned even more piercings, this time on his eyebrow, lip, and nose. Aaron hadn’t seen so many piercings on someone’s body in his entire life.

“Yo, Aaron!” Alex held out his hand, presumably for a handshake. When Aaron clasped it, he let out a surprised “oomf!” as Alex pulled him in for a sudden embrace, patting him on the back. “Shit, man, it’s been forever—ten years, now?”

“Uh,” Aaron stammered, “y-yeah. Nice t-to see you too, Alex.”

A couple pats were given to Aaron’s shoulder, then to the roof of the car. Alex’s ride wasn’t anything special—it seemed pretty beat up, actually. Aaron didn’t know much about cars, but he knew that it wasn’t exactly luxury.

Jogging around to the driver’s side, Alex opened the door. “Hop in, man!”

Nodding, Aaron maneuvered himself into the passenger’s side, buckling and sitting stiffly in his seat. A glance was given towards his window as Alex drove away. Something uncomfortable stirred within Aaron, like a tickle you might get at the back of your throat, or an itch you just couldn’t scratch.

Religion was still a tricky subject for Aaron, yet as the car drove further and further away from the halfway home, Aaron sensed that something wasn’t right. Was it anxiety? Or was it a bad omen?

“I figured I’d show you ‘round my place,” Alex’s voice broke Aaron from his thoughts. “Figured I’d get you acquainted with my livin’ space. s’ a bit of a drive though.”

“Oh.”

Aaron didn’t dare voice his concerns. A bit of a drive? What did that mean? He shook his head.

“Do-Do you live near Linda?” he asked, clearing his throat. “Near where she lived, I-I mean.”

“Nah.” Alex shrugged, only just then buckling himself in, leaning back in his seat. “She was further north. Damn shame.”

He turned his head to look at Aaron, who immediately curled into himself where he sat.

“Heard ‘bout how she was killed?”

Aaron swallowed his emotions. “Y-Yeah.”

“Shit, man.” A breath escaped Alex, his left leg bouncing. “I figured that’s why they brought your ass in. Considerin’ how close it was to—”

“I know, Alex,” Aaron butt in. His cheeks burned red, shame swallowing him up. “So-Sorry. Jus’… I don’t w-wa-…wanna hear it.”

That was enough to end the conversation there.

Told you he couldn’t be trusted.

C’mon, Roy, he ain’t all that bad.

“About that.” Alex’s eyes flicked to Aaron, hand steady on the steering wheel. “Since I ran off, I never got to ask ya: did you really kill him? Do you really got that, uh…”

His finger looped in circles around his temple.

“The split personality thing?”

They should have been prepared for this. While at the very least they weren’t being treated like a dangerous psychopath, they still felt as though they were being paraded around like a circus animal.

For what felt like the billionth time, Aaron sighed and answered, “Y-Yes. It’s called di-…dissociative identity disorder. And it ain’t jus-just Roy.”

Alex raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? What, you got forty other people in there?”

“Not that m-many. Only five.”

“Five?” Alex whistled. “s’ like livin’ with five roommates 24/7. That’s gotta get old.”

At that, Aaron actually laughed. “Y-Yeah, well—I had ‘em ‘round since I w-was eight.” His forehead pressed against the passenger’s seat window now, watching the passing cars and changing scenery. “Dr. Woodward says I split ‘cause of-of…of the abuse.”

No reply. Embarrassed, Aaron continued, shifting the direction of the conversation.

“They-They helped me. An’ Roy ain’t all bad.”

Fingers began picking at his cuticles, a nervous habit. Aaron never spoke about the others this much with anyone, save for Woodward and his brief conversation with Linda.

“He-He’s mean,” Aaron explained, “but he has to be. ‘specially f’ I-I’m in danger. s’ why he…”

The tape. Get the tape, Tommy. Son of a bitch, get the fucking tape.

Aaron flinched, his head aching.

No, I don’t wanna switch. Not now.

Fighting switches wasn’t smart either, however. Doing so only worsened their headaches and dissociation, as they discovered. Aaron closed his eyes and attempted to focus.

I am in the present. I will stay out.

The more he chanted the phrase in his mind, the more his headache worsened. It felt like his grasp on the world around was hanging by a thread. He leaned over, trying to massage his temples to loosen the pain in his head, but it barely did him any good.

Alex seemed to have taken notice of the pain Aaron was in. He briefly looked over at him with a look of concern.

“Yo, uh—you feeling alright over there?” He asked.

Aaron, barely understanding a word he asked, waved off Alex. “ ‘m…fine.” Every word he spoke felt like a tug. “Listen—someone… might take over… for a bit.”

Alex shook his head, baffled and confused. “Someone? You talking about one of those people in your head?”

I am in control, I am running the body.

What turned into a painful headache became a full blown migraine. He had no idea who he was or where he was at. He tried applying more pressure to his temples but it was no use at this point. Everything became overwhelming and Aaron soon realized there was no use trying to fight it anymore.

Once he felt himself slip into darkness, another person stepped into his place. The headache was a lot less painful, but the pain still lingered. The person blinked a few times as they adjusted to reality.

Who am I? Roy—no, doesn’t feel right. Tommy? No, that’s not it either.

Suddenly they sat up in their seat, something clicking in their mind.

Sawyer.

Sawyer rubbed at his temples, subduing the lingering pain of his headache. It felt like it was a lot worse this time than the last time he fronted.

Jesus—the fuck happened before I showed up?

He looked around at the car, gaining his bearings. He flinched once he made eye contact with Alex, initially not remembering why he was there and how he got in this car.

Alex looked over at him in confusion. “You sure you’re doin’ okay?”

To his surprise, when ‘Aaron’ spoke again, it was with a thick Brooklyn accent.

“I mean—besides this headache I guess I’m fine.”

This time, it was Alex who flinched. “Jesus Christ, man—how the hell do you do that?”

Sawyer tilted his head slightly. “Do what?”

He waved his hand around wildly. “The accent! One second you sounded like some damn country boy now you’re able to perfectly replicate some New York accent!”

Sawyer laughed as he leaned back into the seat, feet resting upon the dashboard. “Oh, yeah—look I dunno, bub. It just comes sorta naturally, y’know.”

“Tch—I bet. Well then, you gotta name or something?”

“Name’s Sawyer. Been around since ol’ Aaron arrived at the Savior House.” He turned towards Alex. “Now then, who the hell are you?”

He smirked over at Sawyer for a moment before turning back to the road. “It’s Alex. I was at the Savior House along with Aaron.” He paused for a moment. “Y’know now that I’m thinking about it, I think I might’ve heard your voice slip out of that guy a few times before back at that old place.”

Alex. Sawyer recalled his “sessions” with him, vaguely, but he’d looked so different then. “You certainly ain’t the first person to tell me that.”

Alex raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Oh, really? I always thought he just knew how to do impressions very well, but I never knew why he would do them after those…”

“Those sessions?” Sawyer looked over. “Yeah—I always made sure Aaron never had to go through those things alone. Nine times out of ten I was the one in front of the camera.”

“That was you?!”

He nodded his head. “Duh. Well, sometimes Aaron would be there instead of me—‘specially the first few times he arrived at the Savior House—but I always took front. Whether behind the camera, in front of it, whatever that old bastard wanted I was there.”

Alex’s hand gripped harder at the steering wheel. “That son of bitch Rushman—god. I’m sorry you had to deal with all that for so long. That old man got what was coming to him.”

A chuckle escaped out of Sawyer. “You said it. And ‘ey, don’t ever feel sorry for me. You went through the same shit as I did. You and I, we ain’t so different.”

“Tch—whatever.” Alex snuck in a brief glance. “You know actually… we can talk more about it when we get to my place. I uh never really did hear Aaron’s—well, I guess your side of the story, so to speak.”

Sawyer smiled, a genuine grin set upon his features. “I’d like that. Never been able to share my experiences with anyone outside of Aaron.”

“Not even Linda?”

He shook his head. “I don’t think she ever knew about me. She only knew Aaron.”

“Does anyone know about you guys?”

Sawyer dropped a leg from the dashboard, head falling back against the headrest. “‘sides the shrink at Daisyland? Ha—no one. Only other one anyone knows ‘bout is Roy.”

“Right. ‘Cause he’s the one who killed Rushman.”

“Sorta.”

“Sorta?”

The smile that grew on Sawyer’s face was wide, cheeky. “I’ll tell ya when we get to your place. Until then, ya got any good tunes to pass the time?”

After about a 45 minute drive of listening to the entirety of Red Hot Chili Peppers’ Californication—with Sawyer mostly rambling about the system’s time at Daisyland—they arrived at a modest looking house hidden in the woods. Twigs crunched beneath Sawyer’s feet as he stepped out of the car, hands on his hips. He surveyed the house, head cocked to the side.

“So, uh…” Alex locked the car with his keys, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Sawyer. The others, uh—what’d you say their names were?”

“‘sides Roy an’ Aaron?” A scoff. He followed Alex’s lead to the front porch, scratching his cheek. “There’s Tommy, Gabe, an’ Eva.”

“Eva?” It was amusing to watch Alex’s eyes widen at that. “You got a chick in there?”

Sawyer blanched. “That ‘chick’ is Aaron’s ma.”

That only seemed to confuse Alex more. “Hold on—Aaron’s ma is in his head?”

“Uh.”

He put it in the simplest of terms—and he wasn’t incorrect, either.

“Yeah?” Sawyer smiled sheepishly. “Shit happens. She died in ‘94, fucked a lotta the others up, an’ then bam: there she was.”

“Shit,” Alex opened the door, “sorry about that, man. Or—men? Men and woman?”

“Don’t hurt yourself, bub.”

A kindhearted laugh followed, and Sawyer stepped inside, the entryway leading to a cramped kitchen. The first thing he went for was the refrigerator, opening it and scouring its contents. The moment he spotted the six pack of Coors Light, he grabbed it.

“Fuck yeah.” He held up the beer, grinning. “Wanna crack open a cold one?”

The smirk that shone on Alex’s features was infectious. “Sure.”

Trailing their way into the living room, Sawyer was quick to flop onto the sofa, kicking his legs out comfortably, while Alex practically wrestled for room—Sawyer had done it on purpose. He laughed and sat up on the armrest, bottle in hand, cracking it open with a bottle opener.

“Y’know, I ain’t a Coors fan or nothin’,” Sawyer admitted, taking a swig and grimacing, “but I ain’t had any alcohol since… fuck, since we were committed. They don’t allow nothin’ in those institutions.”

“Don’t tell me they put you in a padded room,” Alex said, tone almost deadly serious.

“Oh, no, nothin’ like that. Just borin’ white an’ gray walls an’… isolation. We weren’t allowed to talk to nobody.”

“Nobody?”

“Nobody. It was hell—but most of us didn’t regret killin’ that bastard for it.”

“Speakin’ of, how did that happen?”

Rolling his eyes, Sawyer sat up fully now, legs criss-crossing in front of him. “Long story short, it was a two person job. Roy an’ Tommy worked together, an’ I offered to help too, but… they wanted t’ do it alone.”

Had Sawyer the opportunity, he would have brutalized Rushman to the point that he was unrecognizable.

“So if it was a two person job,” Alex shook his drink around in his hand, “how’d they get caught?”

Sawyer took another swig. “Aaron popped up when he wasn’t s’posed to. Thinkin’ he showed up before they were able to grab that tape Rushman always used.”

Alex’s eyes widened in surprise. “I was lookin’ for that tape! Before that damn lawyer and his buddy got on my ass.”

“Ah, I remember that.” Sawyer let out a chuckle. “Think they showed Aaron one of your earrings after your little tussle wit’ them.”

“Forgot I lost that thing. Did they say anything else about me?”

“Think Marty must’ve brought up the idea you might’ve killed Rushman at the time.”

Alex let out a sigh. “Shit, I definitely thought about it.”

“Well, shit, me too!”

The two men proceeded to burst into loud laughter. It was the first time in what felt like forever since Sawyer felt this comfortable around someone. He was starting to like Alex, the real Alex outside of Rushman’s sessions. He seemed like a good guy after all.

Once the laughter died down, Sawyer placed his bottle down on the coffee table in front of the sofa.

“So enough about me, what about you? How’s life been treatin’ ya after all these years?” he asked.

“Well,” Alex took another sip, “after I split from the Savior House I ended up at some old homeless shelter—same one Linda was at. I was there for a few years until I managed to snag a job where I saved enough money to buy this house we’re at now.”

“Sounds fascinatin’.”

He shrugged. “Eh, it’s whatevs, nothing too crazy. I did attend therapy for a little bit to help manage my anger but I had to stop to save money.”

“Did it ever work for ya?”

“I mean—I’m not actively trying to kill you so that must mean something.”

They both howled with laughter once again. For a moment, Sawyer forgot about Linda’s murder and Rushman’s ring. No more Martin Vail or Rudi Hines, just a cold beer with an old acquaintance. He wished life felt this good all the time.

Suddenly Alex looked over at Sawyer, a serious look in his eyes.

“You said you would pop up during those tapes Rushman always did.” He placed his bottle down. “What about the others? Did they ever have to deal with him?”

Sawyer shook his head. “I don’t think so—well not as much as I did. Gabe and Eva never really front, and I think Roy and Tommy tried leavin’ Rushman to me, they have their own… I guess sexual trauma? Somethin’ ‘bout those session really veered them off course.”

Before Alex could say anything Sawyer raised his hand, “I don’t want to go blabberin’ ‘bout other people’s businesses but I will say this: they had many bad experiences with Aaron’s old schoolteacher. Really messed ‘em up even if they don’t admit to it.” He paused for a brief moment. “It would explain a lot why they rarely ever popped up during Rushman’s sessions.”

“Jesus. I’m so sorry to hear about that, man.”

Sawyer waved him off. “I’m not the one you should be apologizin’ to. I was never there when it all went down, I just happened to share the memories.”

Alex let out a small hum in reply; an awkward silence quickly fell between the two men. Sawyer never really liked to talk about the others’ traumas in such a way. He felt he didn’t have any position to speak on it, despite experiencing sexual trauma himself. He never met Rebecca or had any sort of connection to Creekside, so he always felt bad talking about her at all, or talking about anything else related to Aaron’s hometown.

In that way, he felt isolated. His place was in a city like Chicago, not some small town in Kentucky. He’d only been here for a little less than half of Aaron’s lifetime.

Rather than ruminating on this, Sawyer downed the rest of his drink and grabbed for another. Alex was still nursing his first bottle when he grabbed the remote beside him and turned on the TV, flicking through the channels.

“By the way,” he began, “I don’t… know the whole situation, but at the mental hospital, did they give you surgery for your, uh…”

Awkwardly, he gestured between his own legs, then to his chest. Sawyer stared at him, blanking, when it hit him.

“Oh, yeah,” mumbled Sawyer. “Uh… no. They don’t do that kinda thing. Gave me a prescription for testosterone but that’s it. Still wearin’ a binder an’ everythin’.”

“That somethin’ you plan on doin’ now?” Alex took a beat, then waved his hand frantically. “Not that there’s anythin’ wrong with it! Just, uh… you always got all self-conscious about it. Whichever one of you, I dunno.”

He was obviously trying to defend himself, new to this sort of thing. A hand rested on Alex’s shoulder.

“Don’t beat yourself up over this, bub,” Sawyer assured him, smiling. “Trust me: s’ on our wishlist. Shame the surgery’s so damn expensive.”

Alex grimaced, his silent version of I’m sorry. Turning to the television, he paused on the NBC channel, which happened to be playing reruns of Friends. This was a show that Sawyer did happen to enjoy, having caught it while it was still airing new episodes.

Ironic, he thought. Watching Friends with my friend.

Is this what it’s like? Tommy asked. To actually have a real friend?

If it is, it’s pretty goddamn great.

Whether it was the alcohol, lack of sleep, or a combination of both, it seemed as though they’d passed out in the middle of watching TV with Alex. Blinking slowly, they—Aaron lifted his head, his world spinning. It was getting dark out; the clock on the wall read 6:50 PM.

“W-Where—?” Aaron noticed that he was on a couch, in a room he didn’t recognize. “What happened…?”

This is Alex’s place, Sawyer was quick to inform him. He invited us in and we had a couple beers.

So that was why Aaron’s reflexes felt dulled. He swallowed, a bitter taste in his mouth. He didn’t like beer.

Kicking around a couple of the empty bottles on the floor, Aaron stood, stumbling somewhat. He took in his surroundings, and one question remained: where was Alex?

“Alex? W-W-…Where’re—”

He hadn’t even managed to finish his sentence when he heard a piercing scream coming from upstairs.

Immediately Aaron bolted towards the source of the sound, stomping up the stairs, tripping on a few on the way up. Adrenaline pumping through his veins, he burst through the first door he found.

He was unprepared to come upon a complete bloodbath.

He could feel the bile creeping up his throat as he saw Alex sprawled out on the floor, his body cut up in the exact same way Rushman was, limbs still twitching post-mortem. This time, his eyes were still intact, so lifeless yet still full of terror—they pierced right through Aaron’s soul.

He was gone. Aaron hadn’t even reunited with Alex for more than a day before he, like Linda, was ripped away from him.

A figure, holding a bloodied butcher knife, stood over Alex’s body like a predator over its prey. They turned around when they heard Aaron enter the room. The figure wore a sweater, stained with blood, and a long printed skirt. A fox mask obscured their face.

You don’t think…

No—no, no, it can’t be.

Aaron stood frozen in place as the figure titled their head slightly, observing him. He couldn’t run, he couldn’t scream, he couldn’t even cry. He didn’t know what to do. All he could do was stand there, shaking in fear.

The figure moved in closer to him, getting a closer look at him. Even with the fox mask shielding their eyes from the outside, Aaron could still feel their gaze burning into him. It filled him with a terror unlike any other, a kind of terror that was telling him he could die at any moment. One wrong move and he would be gone, just like Alex.

Jus’ like Linda…

Suddenly, the figure crept their free hand up to their mask in a heavy motion. The slow maneuver felt like it was done on purpose, as if they were trying to taunt Aaron. In a flash they ripped the mask off, shedding their false face.

In place of the fox was a monster disguised as a woman. A devil posed behind cold green eyes and a condescending smile. She looked up at Aaron’s terrified gaze and chuckled, a sound that sent shivers down his spine.

“Hello, Aaron. Long time no see.”

The familiarity of her voice made him nauseous. He knew this woman, he recognized this woman. Even after ten years he still remembered that voice, the kind that led you into a false sense of security. The kind that still haunted his dreams.

There, standing just only a foot away, was Aaron’s old school teacher: Rebecca Kramer.

HYDRA.

Chapter Text

“Hello, Aaron. Long time no see.”

Rebecca’s mocking voice made Aaron flinch, his head suddenly pounding. The sudden wave of pain made him collapse to his knees. He was muttering incoherent words—practically praying—to himself as it all hit him at once. He didn’t have enough time to process what was happening before the world around him went dark.

Seconds later, Aaron’s head shot up, teeth gritted, eyes filled with nothing but hatred. His voice dripped with venom.

“You.”

Roy.

Rebecca tilted her head slightly, a smirk upon her face as she stared down at him. It didn’t fade, even as Roy screamed at her.

“I’LL FUCKIN’ KILL YOU!”

In a blind fury, Roy jumped to his feet and took a swing up at Rebecca’s face. His fist connected with her jaw, the impact causing her to stagger backwards. He took advantage of the brief moment it took for her to recover, running and tackling her down to the ground. The weight of the tackle caused Rebecca to drop the knife, which Roy immediately took notice of.

He held her down with his knees as he swiftly grabbed the knife, attempting to drive it down into her. Instead, he was met with Rebecca holding his arm back with a surprising amount of strength. Despite the body of Aaron being taller than her, she was easily able to match his power.

“So that’s it?” She chuckled from underneath him. “Going to kill me just like that? What will the police have to say about that, hm?”

“I don’t give a damn what those pigs say.” He set his jaw. “I’ll have you gutted like a fuckin’ fish.”

He tried to plunge the knife down again, but was still thwarted by Rebecca, her grip bruising. She snickered.

“And how do you plan to do that? You kill me and you’ll be left with two dead bodies at the scene of the crime. You’ve already been arrested for murder once, what makes you think you’ll get away with it this time?”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

With his free hand, Roy took a swing at Rebecca. His fist connected with her cheekbone, but she still held on.

Oh my God.

Roy. Roy, what’s going on?

He’s dead. It’s her.

Kill her, Roy. Fuckin’ gut that bitch.

TOMMY.

The blade was inches from her throat. Rage, fury, and all those years of pain and manipulation overwhelmed any and all rational thought. He screamed, using all his strength to try and plunge the knife into her flesh. The stench of copper filled his senses; the mangled corpse of Alex was inescapable from his peripheral vision.

Only the very tip of the knife scraped her skin when she tightened her grip on his wrist and twisted. Crying out in pain, Roy swore as the weapon slipped from his hold, clattering to the floor, just beside Rebecca’s head.

“You bitch,” he growled, both hands around her neck now, applying pressure against her windpipe. She gasped, mouth agape. “You FUCKIN’ BITCH!”

Kill her. KILL HER KILL HER KILL HER.

ROY, NO.

STOP.

He thought he’d won then, as Rebecca wheezed and writhed under him. Roy was ready to watch the light fade from her eyes, when he heard something in the distance.

Sirens.

Reluctantly, he released Rebecca, leaving her to cough and catch her breath, the blood draining from his once red face. His heart dropped to the pit of his stomach with dread.

“What’d you do?”

When she didn’t answer quickly enough, he backhanded her across the face, grasping onto her sweater and shaking her. A wider grin splayed across her lips; his blood boiled.

“ANSWER ME!”

Rebecca laughed weakly, a sound that threatened to set Roy off again as he tightened his fists in the wool material.

“Well—”

She coughed, inhaling shakily. Blood dripped down her nose from where Roy had hit her numerous times. In spite of his, she met his gaze and spoke as evenly as possible.

“What else was I supposed to do? I’d come to visit Alex, my neighbor, when I heard a noise. I called the police, figuring there was an intruder. That’s when I found the body. And, oh, who else would be standing over him but Aaron Stampler—the Butcher Boy of St. Michael’s, come to tie up loose ends.”

Roy’s breathing quickened, becoming panicked.

Fuck. Fucking bitch. Kill her. FUCKING KILL HER, ROY.

“SHUT UP, TOMMY!”

Roy meant to speak internally, but Rebecca didn’t seem to care. Then again, she didn’t seem to care about anything in regards to anyone’s wellbeing—or their lives.

Glaring, he hovered over her, a palm pressed against the hardwood floor. “No one’ll believe you.”

“I’m not a killer,” Rebecca said, simply. She was breathless, head tilted back, undoubtedly invigorated. “Why would I want to kill Linda? Or Alex? Not to mention your fingerprints are all over the murder weapon.”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“You fuckin’—”

“Call me a bitch all you want, Roy, but we don’t have much time.”

With every passing second the sirens drew in closer. Roy’s eyes looked around wildly, panic well within his system now. Every moment he hovered above Rebecca was a moment of time being wasted. He had to make a decision soon.

“You kill me and the cops will have you escorted to death row personally,” she flashed a wicked smirk, “or you come with me back to Creekside and the cops will have no idea you were ever here. Your choice.”

Roy’s fist clenched at the collar of Rebecca’s sweater. “Like hell I’m goin’ back to that shithole of a town. Not with you.”

She let out an empty laugh, “Then kill me already! What’s stopping you from finishing the job?” She paused for a moment. “Maybe it’s Aaron? You don’t want to kill me because of what Aaron might think. Roy, the infamous dark side of Aaron, the one who killed Bishop Rushman and attacked a poor woman in the middle of a trial. You don’t want to fail him again, now do you?”

Rebecca was tempting fate, and Roy was struggling to control himself. He leaned down closer to Rebecca, warning her, “Don’t you ever mention Sonny’s name again, do you hear me?”

When she didn’t respond, he slammed her body into the hardwood floor, making her cry out in pain.

“I’LL CUT YOU UP IF YOU SAY THAT BOY’S NAME AGAIN!”

She gasped, “Then do something good for once: come with me and spare Aaron the trauma. You don’t have much of a choice, the cops are just only a few miles away now.”

Rebecca was right, Roy could hear the sirens were very much closer, and was getting closer by the second. He looked over at Alex’s body then back to her. For the first time in his life, doubt clouded his thoughts.

Just fuckin’ kill her. Spread that bitch’s guts across the floor, finish the damn job!

Tommy, will you just think for a second—

YOU DON’T GET IT!

The chatter of his headmates didn’t help with his racing thoughts, if anything they made him more frustrated and confused. He looked down at Rebecca, then back over at Alex’s body. Down at Rebecca, back to Alex. He felt his hands shaking as he stared down into the lifeless eyes of the former altar boy. Roy felt true fear.

Tears burned into his eyes as he slammed his fist into the wooden floor, slowly but surely rising up off of Rebecca. She stood up from the floor, dusting off her skirt as if she wasn’t mere seconds away from death just moments before. She smiled to herself.

She knew she had won.

Roy didn’t even turn to look at her, his words full of defeat. “Jus’… get me outta here.”

He felt ashamed. After who knows how many years, he still let that school teacher manipulate him. He wanted nothing more than to paint the whole room with her blood, but ultimately Rebecca was right. He didn’t want to doom Aaron again like he did in the past—he didn’t want to fail him.

The thought of seeing that boy in distress like that again was enough to sway even the likes of Roy.

Rebecca reached forward to grab Roy’s wrist, and he immediately flinched at the contact, but didn’t pull away. Raising a bloody finger to her lips, she urged Roy to keep quiet as she led him out of the room, leaving Alex behind. He couldn’t even spare one last glance at the mess.

(The fox mask had been grabbed before either of them left. Roy was in charge of holding it, and his hands couldn’t stop shaking.)

Before descending the stairs, Rebecca removed her bloody shoes, releasing Roy and leaning against the guard railing. He noticed that she was wearing gloves, which was alarming on multiple levels. How many times had she killed before? Was Linda her first?

“This way,” she hummed, shoes in one hand and Roy’s wrist in the other, almost dragging him down.

Out they went, then, to the back of the house, the door already open from when Roy presumed that she snuck inside. Hiking up her skirt so that she didn’t track any blood in the grass, they hurried across the yard as the sun set on the horizon, squinting as darkness began to obscure their vision.

The walk to her home wasn’t long—she was, indeed, Alex’s neighbor. Releasing Roy to reach into the pocket of her skirt, Rebecca pulled out a set of keys and pressed a button, unlocking the car in her driveway with a click!

“Go on,” she said, opening the passenger’s side door, “get in, Roy.”

Roy held back the urge to strangle her with all his might. He swallowed, staring at the open door and the car’s interior. The gentle smile on Rebecca’s face didn’t even waver.

Now or never, Roy.

I can’t go through a trial again, Tommy. What if Marty comes back an’ uses the opportunity to fuck us over? Fuck, I can’t be put on fuckin’ display again.

His glare shooting daggers at Rebecca, Roy complied, stepping into the car and buckling himself in.

By the time Rebecca pulled out of her driveway, police cars had already rushed past them and pulled up to Alex’s house. A hand pressed against the car window. Roy watched Alex and his home disappear out of sight.

For the next hour, Roy didn’t speak. His fists clenched and unclenched in his jeans, the fox mask bent and broken. Complete silence accompanied them, and neither attempted to raise their voice. Rebecca seemed so caught up in driving as it was, and it unnerved him.

Psychotic bitch. Can’t fuckin’ believe this.

Alex is gone. Really gone.

Who’s gonna tell Aaron?

He saw it.

Curling into a fetal position, Roy maneuvered onto his side, forehead pressed against a window. The further they drove, the less traffic he saw in the darkness. She was leading them away from the main roads, and it worried him. Where was she taking them? What was her aim in all of this?

Roy never got the chance to ask any of these questions, and he didn’t want to. All he could think about was Alex’s dead body, his vacant, glazed over eyes, and the way in which his limbs still twitched. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair.

“Aaron.”

The car stopped, pulling off to the side on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere in an empty field. He squinted, trying to see through the windows and pinpoint where exactly they were, when Rebecca touched his arm gently. His immediate reaction was to jerk back, so hard his skull thumped against the roof of the car. Pain shot through him, and he rubbed his head.

“Fuck,” he ground out, glaring at Rebecca. “Don’t touch me. The fuck do you want now? Where the hell are we?”

Rebecca, now sporting a bruise on her cheek, distanced herself from him. She unbuckled and began removing her bloody gloves. “I’ve got to do something. Shouldn’t take more than a half hour. You stay here, alright?”

“Sure.” Roy rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right. I’ll stay put—an’ I’ll wash your fuckin’ clothes, too.”

Clink!

It happened so fast he didn’t even realize what she’d done. Roy’s eyes widened—Rebecca slapped a pair of handcuffs on his left wrist. He began to struggle, startling Rebecca, yet she was stronger than he. He shouted, wriggling around as she wrestled his arm down, cuffing him to the steering wheel.

“Goddamn it, goddamn it!” Roy tugged on the cuffs, hard enough that the metal dug into his flesh. “You fuckin’ cunt, I’ll—”

“Kill me?” She sighed, as though she were disappointed. “Stay put, now. I’ll be back.”

“YOU FUCKIN’ BITCH!”

The door slammed shut behind her, blocking out the tail end of Roy’s anger-induced cussing.

He did everything he could to break free once she was out of sight. He tried kicking at the windows—barely a scratch. He tried looking for a lock pick or a key somewhere in the car—nothing. He even tried tugging at cuffs again with all the strength the body had, but all it did was leave a red mark.

Quit doin’ that! That shit’s not goin’ to help!

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

In his rage, Roy’s fist collided with the car’s dashboard. There was barely even a dent, and all it did was bruise his knuckles.

The pain of the impact caused tears to prick at his eyes. Just as quickly as they formed, they immediately began to flow freely.

Roy broke down, crying and shaking in the car as if he just got a beating from his old man. Fingers scratched at the dashboard as his whole body shook with every sob. He felt weak. He felt pathetic. He felt ashamed. All of the trauma from Rebecca that he’d repressed, meanwhile he was breaking down over a few bruised knuckles.

“Quit your cryin’, you little girl! Jesus fuckin’ christ—you make me sick. I outta give you a beatin’ right now for bein’ such a sissy.”

He hated how easily he broke down, especially now, after Dr. Woodward encouraged him to get more in touch with his emotions. He hated how everything felt so much worse than it should’ve been. This wasn’t like him—he shouldn’t be like this.

Crying was for wimps, for failures, for sissies. He shouldn’t be doing this, he shouldn’t be feeling this. Aaron wasn’t going to be arrested again, so why did Roy still feel like he failed him?

’ey! Enough wit’ the waterworks, bub, an’ none o’ that thinkin’! Y’know we can find a way to escape somehow.

Roy’s breath hitched, his voice wavering a little bit. “T-That’s the dumbest bullshit you’ve e-ever said.”

Can I not be concerned for a friend? Not my fault for tryin’ to think positive.

“There’s nothin’ to be concerned about, Sawyer.” He wiped away the tears with his free hand. “I’m fuckin’ fine.”

You certainly don’t look fine.

Roy pulled down the mirror above him. In his reflection, he saw his glossy and puffy eyes, snot dripping down from his nose with his entire face being a shade of pink. He groaned loudly as he pushed the mirror back up.

“Yeah, okay, whatever—I don’t fuckin’ care. I’ll still be fine.”

You know it’s okay to cry, right? You can’t keep repressin’ your emotions forever.

Roy sniffled. “That’s bold comin’ from you.”

Ugh—this ain’t about me! This is about you! You’re Roy! You can’t let Miss Pedophile get the better of ya.

“Get to the fuckin’ point, Sawyer.”

You killed Rushman even before I could get to ‘im, so what makes you think you can’t get to Rebecca this time around?

Nails scraped at the dashboard again, leaving behind faint but noticeable marks. “We don’t kill anymore, Sawyer. I don’t. ‘sides, didn’t you hear what that bitch said back at Alex’s place?! The police’ll—”

Who said they’ll know? Think about it: she may know Creekside, but so do you. You, Aaron, Tommy, hell even Eva knows a little bit about the place. You could hide the body in someplace where they’ll never suspect a thing.

“But the cops—”

Give yourself some time to think about it—I think Miss Child Toucher is headin’ back this way.

Fuck. Roy spared a glance out the window, where he could barely make out Rebecca’s figure in the field. He couldn’t make anything out, not clearly, until—

A bright yellow light flickered in the distance. He could see a figure out there now, though still blurry, unfocused.

It clicked—Rebecca had lit a fire.

Burning the evidence, he thought, the hand cuffed to the wheel clenching and unclenching. Crazy bitch.

His body still leaned uncomfortably over the driver’s seat, the muscles in his stretched arm starting to grow sore. Shifting his position didn’t help much, and he let his forehead thunk on the dashboard, groaning.

Rebecca didn’t attend to the handcuffs when she returned. She didn’t even open the door. Roy noticed that she was half naked, wearing only a bra and underwear, which made his stomach turn. He eyed her as she walked around the car and popped open the trunk.

Minutes passed, and she returned to his line of view, wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt. She had a container of Clorox wipes in hand, which puzzled Roy. Until, that was, she began wiping at the door handles.

The blood. She was cleaning the blood.

His head jerked as the driver’s seat door was opened. She wiped down her seat—inexpensive leather—and looked at Roy.

“There we go,” she said, as though she’d been tidying up for guests and not hiding evidence of a murder. “Now was that so hard?”

Roy didn’t trust himself to speak. He remained seated, looking away from her. From the corner of his eye, he watched her pull out the key for the handcuffs on a chain around her neck, unlocking them.

“You know I just had to be careful,” Rebecca told Roy as he rubbed the marks on his aching wrist. “It’s for your own good, angel.”

“Don’t call me that.” It was a gut reaction, Roy’s teeth clenched as he growled like a mangy dog. “You don’t get t’call me that.”

Rebecca stared at Roy; he could see the gears in her head turning. What was she thinking? Fuck’s sake, what did she want?

Her attention shifted. Pulling out another wipe, she scrubbed down the gear shift and the wheel, and any other surface that may or may not have been covered in blood.

“Get some rest,” she told him. “We have a long ride ahead of us.”

Rebecca revved the car to life. Roy shook and closed his eyes. He wouldn’t be sleeping at all that night.

“What’re we gonna do? What the fuck’re we gonna do?”

“Sawyer, please, I’m thinking.”

Gabriel ran his hands frantically through his usually well-kept, dark hair. He paced Sawyer’s room, chin placed in his hand.

“This—” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is bad. Very bad.”

“No fuckin’ shit,” said Sawyer, sitting on his bed, knees drawn to his chest. “You said Rebecca wouldn’t do somethin’ like this.”

“Evidently, I was wrong.”

“Oh, ya don’t say?”

“Enough with the attitude, Sawyer!” Gabriel bellowed, causing Sawyer to flinch, pointing a finger at him. “Now is not the time to spout sarcastic remarks.”

“Sheesh.” Sawyer kicked out his legs, burying his face in his hands. “Fuckin’—crucify me for tryin’ to lighten the sour mood!”

“It’s not helping.”

“Well, then excuse me, priest!”

Amidst their arguing, they failed to notice the loud commotion next door coming from Tommy’s room. Only in the brief beat of silence did they hear it, directing their attention elsewhere. It sounded like things were being thrown, loud wailing was emitting through the walls. Sawyer and Gabriel looked at each other in alarm as they realized who the voice belonged to.

Their eyes met as they said, in sync, “Tommy.”

The two men bursted out of Sawyer’s room and into the room next door, Gabriel being the first to arrive with Sawyer following shortly after. Immediately, they were met with disaster.

Posters were ripped from the walls; every sheet and pillow had been sprawled all over the floor; the walls had several dents in it. Tommy was pacing around in his room, his shaking hands held out in front of him, tears streaming down his face. He looked awful.

“What the hell happened here?” Gabriel asked, taking a step forward.

Tommy’s head shot up, his eyes filled with hate.

“What do you think, huh?! Aaron had to witness his teacher standing over his friend’s dead body, Roy was manipulated into ridin’ with the sick bitch, and worst of all HE DIDN’T EVEN KILL HER!” He let out an empty chuckle. “I don’t know, Gabe. I really wish I knew what the fuck happened here.”

“Listen, we have to come up with a plan—”

Tommy walked up to Gabriel, getting right into his face despite their height difference. “I had a plan, Gabe. I told that little bastard to kill her. To spread her fucking guts across the damn house and what did he do? Nothin’. He gave up! Now I have to relive everythin’ that teacher did t’me.”

Gabriel let out a deep sigh, rubbing his temples. “Thomas, you know why Roy didn’t do anything. Killing her would have doomed us all. Plus, you said it yourself—she manipulated him. She used his one weakness against him.”

“I DON’T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT HIS WEAKNESS!” Tommy pushed Gabriel back. “HE SHOULD’VE KILLED HER WHEN HE HAD THE CHANCE!”

Gabriel looked at him in shock, a hand hovering over his chest. Even Sawyer, who was leaning cross armed against the doorway, was shocked by the behavior. Nobody—not even Roy—fought back against Gabriel. Nobody had ever dared to do such a thing.

Tommy seemed to have taken notice of what he did, fear in his eyes as he stared back at the priest. He distanced himself, ready to hear yet another lecture from Gabriel, an apology beginning to form before he even spoke.

As it turned out, neither of them had the chance to utter a word as a lilting, sweet voice interrupted them.

“What’s all this racket?”

The three turned their heads towards the hallway to find Evangeline, standing there with her hands clasped in front of her. Her eyes were big, filled with concern, mouth formed into a deep frown.

She took a couple steps towards the doorway to Tommy’s room. “I heard all this shoutin’ an’ bangin’, an’ you know, Aaron’s tryin’ to sleep, I wouldn’t want—”

Her words caught in her throat as she peeked inside the bedroom. A hand flew over her mouth at what she saw.

“Oh, my stars.” Sawyer didn’t stop her from entering now, and Tommy didn’t make a sound. He hung his head, ashamed as Evangeline inspected the damage. “Tommy, did you do all o’ this?”

Sobs caught in Tommy’s throat. He swallowed them down. “‘m sorry, Mama. We’re—all o’ us are goin’ through a lot.”

“Angel,” she tutted, reaching up to cradle Tommy’s face in her hands. He melted against her instantly, releasing a long breath. “What’s all this about? Seems I haven’t been kept in the loop.”

“Eva—” Gabriel began, though he faltered. Evangeline turned to him, and he cleared his throat. “It would be best if you didn’t know.”

She raised a brow. “Says who?”

“Me,” he replied. “I am the gatekeeper of this system, Eva—we all have to protect each other.”

“And that includes me, don’t it?”

At that, Gabriel didn’t supply an answer. Everyone was silent, tiptoeing over the matter at hand.

Evangeline thought to herself, long and hard. Ultimately, her head snapped up, determined.

“Sawyer, baby,” she gestured to him, “watch over Tommy, will you? He needs all the love he can get right now, an’ I wanna talk to Gabriel alone.”

That took them off-guard. Sawyer tched, clicking his tongue and smirking at Gabriel, who stared at Evangeline with knitted brows.

“Talk with me alone?” he repeated. “Why?”

“Don’t fight me on this, Father.” Her arms crossed, using Gabriel’s professional title in a mocking tone. “Outside. Now.”

The snicker Sawyer let out did not go unheard. Grimacing, Gabriel nodded and stepped out into the hall with Evangeline, who closed the door behind them. He sniffed, arms folded in front of his chest as he stared down at the small, yet commanding woman.

“Alright,” he shrugged, “state your peace.”

There wasn’t a moment’s hesitation when she spoke: “I wanna be the one to front this time.”

Gabriel raised his eyebrows. Shaking his head, he brushed her off, “No, not a chance. Not now.”

“Gabriel.”

Her hand latched onto his forearm, gripping firmly. Desperation sparkled in her eyes, a wide-eyed panic that Gabriel hadn’t seen since she fronted once at Daisyland.

“Please,” she begged. “My babies are in danger.”

“Eva…” He stammered. “I—you don’t understand—”

She tightened her hold on him. “I can handle it. You know what Hollis did t’ me. You know what I’ve been through.”

He did. They all did. The sentiment was heard, loud and clear: I’m not made of glass.

“Then promise me,” and he rested a hand on her shoulder, “that you will be careful. If it gets too much, you have to let me know.”

“So we’re in agreement then?”

Every muscle in his body tensed. God, he hoped he wouldn’t regret this. “Yes, we’re in agreement.”

And Evangeline, elated over having agency of her own, smiled.

“Good.”

Chapter Text

“Hi, Mama.

“Welcome home, angel.”

Thirteen-year-old Johanna Stampler didn’t say another word as she pulled up a chair at the kitchen table, seating herself. She kicked her legs, staring off into nothing. Her mama had been busying herself at the stove, a knife and half chopped onions abandoned as she washed her hands and approached her daughter. An arm wrapped around Jo’s frame, a kiss pressed to the top of her head.

(Jo held back a violent flinch.)

“How was school, Little Jo?” her mama asked as she returned to the task at hand, dicing the onions and making Jo’s eyes water.

The girl shrugged. “Fine.”

“An’ your study session with Ms. Kramer?”

Johanna froze. She stared down at her feet, picking the scabs at her knees.

Leave those alone, lil’ twerp.

Easy, Roy. Easy.

“She-She was fine.”

Evangeline Stampler paused, knife hovering in the air where she clutched it. Jo could tell that her mama was in deep concentration, even though she couldn’t see her face.

“I see,” Mrs. Stampler replied, lowering her blade and resuming dicing. “What’d you read today?”

“Uhm,” Johanna thought for a moment, “we read… uh, some o’ The C-Catcher an’ the Rye, an’-an’ a short st-story.”

“Which one?”

“‘s called ‘The Lottery.’”

Johanna knew her mama had never heard of either of those pieces of literature, but it was alright. She still smiled and nodded and entertained her daughter, which was all Jo could ask for.

Her mama smiled. “That’s nice, baby.” She wiped her hands on her apron and turned one of the dials on the stove. The blue flame flickered to life. “‘m so proud o’ you.”

“Tha-Thanks, Mama.”

Something was still bothering her mama, though. It was unspoken, yet still there, Jo could tell.

“Jo,” Evangeline began, “why did your study time with Rebecca last so long today? Ain’t it usually an hour, not two? Was expectin’ you home at three.”

Johanna swallowed nervously.

Lemme talk. I’m a better liar.

No, Jo’s got this.

She ain’t got the guts to do nothin’.

“Jus’ w-w-…went overti-time.”

Her cuticles began to bleed, and still, she couldn’t stop picking at them. One of her hands unconsciously touched her neck, smudging the red lipstick mark there.

“‘m sorry.”

Mama had stopped her cooking altogether now, staring at her daughter. The expression on her face filled Jo with shame; she wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball and fade into nothing.

“Don’t be sorry, angel,” she heard her mama shush. “Now, sweetheart—d’you think Ms. Kramer would let me talk t’ her alone?”

Mouth running dry, Johanna lifted her head. “Outside o’—Outside o’ class, or…?”

“Don’t matter t’ me none.”

“Uh.” Jo gulped. “‘m sure she wou-w-wouldn’t mind…”

Mrs. Stampler opened the fridge and took out a stick of butter, setting it on the counter as she spoke. “Good. Think I wanna have a word with her. Nothin’ serious, angel,” she assured, “but I wanna make sure she knows ‘bout my rules an’ when I want you home by.”

Curling her hands into fists to stop them from shaking, Jo nodded. It would be alright. Rebecca wouldn’t hurt Johanna if anything happened, right? No, she wasn’t like Papa. At least she wasn’t like Papa.

“Okay.” Jo nodded, sucking the blood from her cuticles, hoping her mama didn’t notice. “Okay, Mama.”

“Wash up now, Jo,” Mrs. Stampler said with a smile, setting a frying pan on one of the stove burners. “An’ get your brother. We’re havin’ hash brown casserole tonight.”

Time seemed to have gone by in a relative blur. The system never noticed they had passed out overnight. One minute they saw themselves as Roy closing his eyes in a car in the middle of nowhere, the next they woke up without a clue who they were. Rebecca seemed to have noticed “Aaron” stirring in the corner of her eyes.

“I see you finally have woken up.” Her eyes were fixated on the road ahead. “Did you have a good sleep, angel?”

Her voice came out as muffled to their ears. They only nodded, barely aware they even moved a muscle. Everything in their mind felt fuzzy.

“You feeling hungry? We’re stopping by a diner on the way.” She waved a hand towards “Aaron.” “I know you don’t have a lot of money but don’t worry, I'll cover you.”

Once again the system could only nod, not hearing a word she said. All of their thoughts were disorganized and it was difficult for them to keep an eye on the woman next to them.

They blinked a few times to themselves and suddenly the car was parked in front of an unfamiliar diner, already getting out of the car without having any recollection of when they even got there. Rebecca gave a lingering touch on their arm before guiding them inside. All of the system’s senses felt numbed; They couldn’t even pull back.

They had no clue what was happening around them.

Once inside, they saw Rebecca speaking with what looked like one of the diner’s staff, a waiter they presumed. They exchanged a few words before they were all guided over to a booth. As soon as the system sat down, things were starting to feel a bit more clear.

Who… am I? They could finally understand their own thoughts now. Still jumbled, but significantly less disorganized and chaotic.

“Can I start you guys off with a couple of drinks?” The waiter had asked as she placed down two menus on the table.

“I’ll just have a coke, please,” Rebecca stated simply.

The waiter looked over at the system, expecting some sort of answer from them. They must’ve still looked out of it as Rebecca answered for them.

“He’ll just have water.”

The waiter gave a warm smile before walking to the back. Rebecca’s gaze burned into “Aaron” as they lowered their head. The two of them were now alone

Not Aaron, not Tommy, definitely not Roy. Who—

They blinked a few more times before slowly lifting their head back up.

Evangeline.

The woman struggled to get her bearings together. She wasn’t used to fronting, with the last time she did being at one of Dr. Woodward’s many sessions years ago. She had no clue as to how she got to this diner or where this diner was at.

Eva looked around as she tried to get a better understanding of the world around her. Her eyes wandered around until her gaze fell upon the woman sitting across from her. It took her a minute to register who she was looking at but it didn’t take long before she recognized who she was.

“Oh, it’s you.” She narrowed her eyes in disgust. “What did you do t’ my babies?”

“He finally speaks.”

Rebecca tutted, pulling out a menu and scanning through it. She only read the first couple words on the page when it truly set in what “Aaron” had said.

“Wait a minute. Aaron, is that you?”

“Aaron’s sleepin’,” Eva said, simply, sitting tall. Her accent was as heavy as Aaron’s, though she didn’t stutter. “What I wanna know is what you had to do with it. I thought you’d run away after the trial.”

Her glare burning holes into Evangeline’s retinas, Rebecca shot a hand forward, grasping her arm. Eva recoiled, though unable to pull away.

“You’d do better to keep your voice down,” warned Ms. Kramer, chin tilted down, eyeing the rest of the diner and its guests. “Who are you? You can’t be Roy.”

Her hand loosened, releasing Eva, who hissed in pain and rubbed her arm. “No,” she said, “I ain’t Roy. Roy’s takin’ a break—poor baby was all wound up.” She scowled at Rebecca, hands clasped in her lap. “Which I don’t doubt you had somethin’ to do with. My poor angels…”

The affectionate name caused something to click in Rebecca’s head. Slumping back against the booth, she brought her hands together, elbows propped on the table.

“I don’t believe it.” A laugh, gentle and full of disbelief, escaped her. “It’s you, isn’t it? Evangeline?”

Just this once, Eva allowed herself to smile. “An’ don’t wear it out, honey.”

A beat. Humming to herself, Rebecca closed her menu, squinting at Evangeline as she stated, almost a question, “So it isn’t only Aaron and Roy.”

As quickly as it came, Eva’s smile disappeared. “That ain’t none o’ your business.”

Rebecca grinned, tapping her manicured nails against the table. “I think you’ll find, Mrs. Stampler, that everything about Aaron is my business. It’ll be very hard for him—for all of you—to keep to yourselves.”

Those foreboding words didn’t fill Eva with any sort of confidence. She’d been seconds away from questioning her, when the waiter returned with their drinks. Head held high, Mrs. Stampler accepted her water, setting it aside.

The waiter pulled out his notepad and pen, addressing the pair. “Now, are we ready to order?”

Ms. Kramer’s simper was painfully tight as she spoke. “Sure. I’ll have the eggs—sunny side up—with a side of sausage and toast.”

“And I,” Eva bounced off of Rebecca, peering at her menu, “will have the country-style omelet. An’, if ya don’t mind, would it be too much for a cup o’ coffee? Gimme ‘s much creamer as ya got.”

“Absolutely,” the waiter said with a grin, taking their menus and stepping away.

Alone again, Evangeline leaned back in her seat, looking upon Rebecca with complete and utter contempt.

At any point, if this becomes too much for you, let me know.

Gabriel? She would be fine, she didn’t need him hovering over her. Didn’t he understand that?

I’ll be fine.

If you insist.

Hold on—is Mama at the front?

Tommy—

Don’t even start with me, Gabe.

Wonderful, now they were fighting. Eye twitching, Eva took a sip of her water, tapping her foot indignantly.

“Rebecca,” she spoke up, “what’s your goal in all o’ this? Takin’ my babies an’… goodness, I guess you’re the one who hurt his darlin’ Linda, ain’t ya?”

Rebecca’s tone was venomous as she spoke, shooting Evangeline an icy glare. “Keep your voice down.”

Fearing only for her babies’ safety, she complied, eyes darting around at the rest of the diner. “Oh, you’re a monster.” She shook her head, a hand on her chest. “I knew somethin’ weren’t right ‘bout you. Ever since Wilson went missin’, I swore—”

It was as if a switch flipped in Ms. Kramer. From beneath the table, Rebecca kicked at Eva’s shins—hard. Crying out, Evangeline clapped a hand over her mouth, muffling any sounds as Rebecca leaned in, grasping at her shirt collar.

“Do not,” she warned, “ever, ever mention that name again. Understood?”

And what else was Evangeline meant to do but remain silent and nod? She was particularly helpless, here. All of them were.

Rebecca smirked as she released Eva’s shirt collar, sitting back nice and tall.

“Now then, back to what we were talking about.” She cleared her throat. “Since it is my business to know, I would like to hear about the rest of Aaron’s….friends.”

“I ain’t tellin’ you nothin’.”

Rebecca leaned back in the booth seat as she took a sip of her coke. “That’s really unfortunate because if you can recall both Linda and Alex were killed a little bit too similar to—ah let’s say…a certain preacher, perhaps?”

She leaned forward, her voice just barely above a whisper. “Would be a real shame if the police knew the Butcher Boy was back at it again, wouldn’t it?”

Evangeline gritted her teeth, nails scraping against the table. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Rebecca’s smile was nothing short of sinister. “Don’t try me, it’s your word against mine. They would never believe you.”

Eva could feel her whole body start to shake. “What d’you want from me?!”

“Tell me about the others and I’ll keep my mouth shut, simple.”

Evangeline hesitated for a moment, fiddling with her imaginary ring. She didn’t know what to say. She wanted to protect her babies, but also didn’t want Rebecca to know about them.

“There’a…” She swallowed nervously, “There’s no one else. Jus’ me, Roy, an’ my baby J— I-I mean Aaron.”

Rebecca raised her eyebrows in suspicion. “Oh really?”

Eva nodded, hands clasped together. “I arrived when my angel was still at tha’ ol’ church—where that preacher was killed.” She looked down at her hands. “Roy’s been ‘round here longer, that’s all I know. Jus’ been us for quite a while.”

“Everything you’re saying, is this true?”

Evangeline couldn’t find the words to reply, instead simply nodding her head.

“Then who is Tommy?”

Eva felt her heart drop at the mention of his name. While she never was around to witness it, she knew what Rebecca did to him. He experienced more of her “love” than even Aaron did. Eva was terrified at the thought of her baby having to face that nasty monster again.

“T-Tommy?” She stammered, stumbling over her own words.

Rebecca picked at her nails. “Yes. When me and Roy finally….met he mentioned a name—Tommy. Who are they?”

“Tommy… h-he’s… he’s…”

Evangeline felt her whole body start to shake again, tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.

She didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t just tell this woman everything, not after what she did to him, but she couldn’t risk them going through another arrest. She was stuck at a standstill. All she wanted was for her babies to be safe.

Just say the word and I can take you out. I’ll step in if I have to.

While Eva knew she could handle things herself, Gabriel’s words comforted her. He was always the first one on the case when things got too much for her, or anybody else at the front for that matter.

Meanwhile Rebecca continued to pick at her nails, boredom plastered all over her features.

“Well,” she looked up at Evangeline with narrowed eyes, “are you going to answer? I’m waiting.”

Eva didn’t respond. Her eyes were distant and full of worry. It seemed like her mind was preoccupied somewhere else.

Rebecca snapped her fingers, annoyance starting to creep in. “Can you even hear me? Are you there? Hello?”

When there was once again no answer, she scoffed as she leaned back against the booth, arms crossed. “Jesus Christ—is this why Hollis always yelled at you? Always having your head in the clouds, you can never understand a word anybody says.”

This time it was Evangeline who kicked at Rebecca’s shin. She clasped her hand over her mouth to muffle out any sound of pain, but Eva grabbed her wrist with an iron grip and yanked her forward.

“Don’t you ever mention that Devil’s name ‘round here again.” Her words spat out like venom. “You’ll never understand what it’s like. Wilson was a wonderful man; Hollis was a demon sent from Hell. You’ve got no place speakin’ on what he did t’me.”

Eva released her grip.

“You’re a monster, you’ll be sent to Hell right where he is.”

In a stroke of bad timing, the waiter came back with several plates of food. While Rebecca was rubbing her wrist, Evangeline gave a warm smile as she said her thanks.

“Is there anything else I can get you two?” The waiter asked.

Eva shook her head. “I think we’ll be fine, thank you kindly for everythin’.”

She gave another friendly smile to which the waiter happily returned as they walked away. Once they were out of sight, Eva’s smile dropped as she stared daggers into the woman across from her.

The rest of their time at the diner was filled with tension and awkward silence, the only words ever spoken was to the waiter who would come in to check on them every so often. The food was actually enjoyable, Eva thought it felt like it was something Aaron might’ve enjoyed, but everything was soured when she was reminded of who she was with.

After everything was done and paid for, and after what felt like hours, the two of them were finally heading back to the car. Once the diner’s doors shut behind her, Evangeline flinched as she felt a headache come on. By the time she had reached the inside of the car, the headache was significantly worse.

The vehicle had started up once again, the diner now long gone, but Eva’s mind was slipping farther and farther away. The tingly sensation crept up on the back of her neck like some bug was crawling back there. She wished she could stay longer, wanting to endure Rebecca’s wrath just to protect her babies, but she knew better than to fight.

She gave out a silent prayer as she closed her eyes, allowing the darkness to take over her vision.

Please, God—watch over my angels. Protect them from this demon. Make sure they are safe.

“…-ron? Aaron?”

The world returned to them in a flash of vibrant light. The back of their skull throbbed with a dull headache, a hand coming up to massage their temples. Someone was speaking to them, though it was unclear who. Focus was not granted to them, the world seeming so far away from their grasp.

Then a hand rested on their shoulder, and they flinched away from it, violently, scrambling back against the door. Their vision cleared, then, which is when they set their sights on the person in the driver’s seat. Now they remembered where they were.

“Oh,” they said, and the moment they spoke, they knew it was Tommy in the front this time. “It’s you.”

Rebecca paused, pursing her lips, unsure of who was speaking. She turned her focus back to the road as Tommy allowed his body to relax only somewhat, glancing out the window. The passing buildings seemed familiar to him. In fact, everything seemed familiar to him.

Mouth turning dry as the Sahara, Tommy’s expression morphed into one of horror as the truth began to sink in: they were in Creekside.

“No,” he muttered, shaking his head, “no, no. You fuckin’ cunt, you brought us back here?!”

“Not Aaron, then,” was all Rebecca said with a sigh, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel as she slowed to a stop at a traffic light. “And definitely not Evangeline. Is this Roy? Or do I finally have the pleasure of meeting Tommy?”

Tommy stared at her in disbelief. He’d nearly forgotten about Evangeline fronting, but how did she know about him?

“SHUT UP, TOMMY!”

Roy’s words echoed in his head. Shit. Fuck. Great goin’, Roy, you’ve doomed us all.

Like you dunno how to act like me.

Fuck that.

By “fuck that,” Tommy largely meant that he was tired of playing games. The moment the light turned green and Rebecca eased her foot on the gas, Tommy lurched forward, hands grabbing for the steering wheel. Successfully taking her off guard, he began to turn the wheel every which way, swerving the car.

“Aaron!” she cried, wrestling for control of the wheel. “What’re you doing?!”

“Gettin’ rid o’ you,” Tommy growled. “Somethin’ Roy couldn’t do. The fuckin’ coward—”

Anything he might have said next was swiftly cut short when Rebecca backhanded him across the face. It was sudden, unexpected, the sharp pain burning as he slumped back into his seat. He cradled his reddened left cheek in shock, gaping at her.

She never raised her hand to him. Ever.

“You—”

“I’m sorry,” Rebecca apologized instantly, straightening the wheel as she drove on. She sounded genuine. “I’m so sorry, honey. I had to stop you.”

“You hit me.”

It still stung. His bottom lip quivered.

“I know.” Now she was the one who looked shaken, fixing her hair in the rearview mirror. “Never again, sweetheart. I promise. Had I not done something, we both would’ve died.”

Tommy sniffed. Rebecca never hit him before. Never.

“B-Bitch,” he shuddered, “you fuckin’ bitch.”

She didn’t dignify him with a response, eyes on the road. “You’d do better to keep your hands to yourself. You know what might happen if anyone sees you.”

It was just like old times. Rebecca speaking to him in that same condescending tone, talking to him as though he weren’t her student, but her equal. Tommy wanted to pull out his hair. He wanted to scream and cry and above all he wanted Rebecca Kramer dead.

“You can’t do this.”

In spite of it all, a smile threatened to form on her lips. “I already have.”

She was mocking him. He could hear it in her tone, in the manner of which she spoke. Sweet mourning lamb. It’s already been done.

Tommy already couldn’t take it anymore. This had to be a bad dream, right? Another one of their many nightmares—it had to be that. He could just pinch himself awake and all would be well, right?

As if she was reading his mind, Rebecca gave a comforting pat to his shoulder, to which Tommy immediately slapped away. She only shrugged her shoulders and continued to look ahead at the road, as if nothing was wrong.

“Hmph—suit yourself, Tommy.” The way she emphasized his name sounded like nails against a chalkboard to his ears. Tommy wanted nothing more than to slam her head against the steering. He hated everything about her.

Rebecca noticed his angry glare and gave him a comforting yet condescending smile. “Cheer up, we’re almost there.”

As soon as she spoke, a familiar building came into view. It was a secluded and nice looking two story home—perfect for a family to live in. There were neatly trimmed bushes lined up along the stairway that led up to the front door, as were a few potted plants hanging on the porch. Tommy’s heart sunk when he realized where he was being taken to.

It was Rebecca’s home.

The car stopped just in front of the stairwell. Rebecca got out first, Tommy hesitating to even open the door. He had one too many memories of being taken here by her—memories he could still recall to this day. Very slowly, he stepped out of the vehicle, staggering behind as the two walked up to the front door.

Rebecca fumbled with her keys a bit before inserting the key and twisting the doorknob open.

“After you,” she stated, motioning for Tommy to come in first.

He once again hesitated, but when he saw her narrowing her eyes just a little bit, he slowly but surely stepped inside. He observed the interior for just a moment, an uneasy feeling settling over him.

Everything about her home felt… oddly normal. Floral painting up on the walls, scented candles on the kitchen table, there was even a quilted blanket laying across a sofa. Tommy would’ve never suspected a pedophilic serial murderer lived here.

He jumped at the front door slamming shut behind. Rebecca gave him a look of confusion for a moment but before waving her hand off, ignoring the behavior.

“Welcome to my home! You’ll be living here for a while so make yourself comfortable.”

She smiled warmly; it made Tommy sick. He clenched his fists while gritting his teeth. “I’m not stupid, you’ve brought me here before.”

Rebecca turned over to him, tilting her head slightly. “I’m sorry, but I don’t recall ever bringing you here before.” She clasped her hands together. “Let me show you around!”

There it was again, that condescending tone. Tommy knew what she was doing. She was deliberately acting oblivious as a way to mock him.

Damn cunt. She’s lyin’ She’s lyin’ an’ she knows it.

As if out of instinct, Rebecca reaches over to grab his arm. The sudden touch of her hand made him violently push it away, looking at her with a mix of anger and terror. The behavior startled her a bit, but thankfully, she seemed to let it go for now and motioned for him to follow.

“That over there is the living room. There’s the kitchen, back door—bathroom’s over there.” She pointed to the staircase in front of them. “That leads up upstairs. That’s where your room will be.”

This time she went ahead first, with Tommy staggering behind her. They walked down a short hallway but he stopped by a door that was cracked open. He peered inside and while he couldn’t see much, he saw a hatch door a little ways above what looked to be a queen sized bed.

When he tried to peer closer, he was grabbed by the arm and was violently pulled away by Rebecca. Her grip was harsh, eyes burning deep into Tommy’s skin. However, just as quickly as she pulled him away, she let go of his arm, appearing apologetic.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” She released gentle laugh. “That’s my room. I just didn’t want you going in there, there’s nothing important to see in there anyway.”

The way she spoke sent shivers down Tommy’s spine. She always said that about her room, how there was nothing “important” there. As a kid he never questioned it at the time, having been taught to never question an adult’s word. However the way she spoke about it now, it made him unsettled.

Rebecca cleared her throat. “Anyways! This is where you’ll be staying.”

She used a key to unlock the door, which Tommy immediately took notice of, and was met with a very cozy room. There was a full sized bed with a sortiment of pillows on one side of the room. On the other was a simple dresser with a scented candle and a few faux plants. There was a large window and several different paintings sprawled across the wall.

Tommy was actually surprised by the sight. With the way she had treated them, he didn’t think she would let them stay in such a nice room.

“Now then,” Rebecca stood in the doorway of the bedroom, “I have to run a few errands. I want you to stay in this room while I’m gone.”

Tommy scoffed. “Yeah—like hell I’m goin’ to listen t’you.”

“Figured you might say that.” She pulled out a key from her pocket. “Now if you do try anything I’m going to have to handcuff you again and have you sleep on the floor in my room, got it?”

She didn’t even give him a chance to respond before she closed the door shut, locking it with an audible click! Tommy rushed over to turn the knob but of course it would not open.

He immediately started banging against the door. “OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR! I’LL KILL YOU, YOU BITCH!”

The lack of a response made him more angry, constantly banging against the door and shouting various threats at his captor. He kept frantically turning the knob but it was no use—he was locked in. Panic started creeping into his system.

After a few minutes, the sound of a car ignition starting up alerted Tommy outside. He ran over to the window and was met with the sight of Rebecca’s car turning around in the direction it came in. In an instant, she sped off into the distance, out of view.

Tommy was alone.

In a panic, he rushed to the door and used all of his weight to attempt to break it down; it barely even budged. He tried again—nothing. He tried again, and again, and again, and again. Every time the door would not break, not even splinter a tiny bit.

Will you just cut the bullshit already? All you’re doin’ is hurtin’ yourself more.

Tommy gripped his hair in frustration. The last thing he needed was for Roy to berate him. “SHUT UP, SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

I’m jus’ sayin’. Unless you plan on launchin’ yourself out of a two story window, then stop slammin’ us against the door like a dumbass. There’s nothin’ you can do.

Defeated, Tommy flopped down onto the bed. The softness of the mattress was nice, and it would’ve comforted him in a way had the circumstances been different. Tears pricked at his eyes as he curled up into a ball, holding onto himself for any sort of stability.

He looked out the window as the tears came crashing down.

All he could do was wait.

Chapter Text

It took Aaron a minute to adjust to the new environment, but he didn’t recognize anything around him once it all became clearer. He figured whoever fronted last must’ve fallen asleep, but why was he here? Everything looked unusually cozy.

“W-…Where am I?”

He hopped over to the window and peered outside. Still, he couldn’t figure out where he was. All he could see were trees, the dirt road, and the setting sun. The more he looked around, the more unsettled he felt.

“What h-happened?”

Hey, kiddo… I don’t think you’re goin’ to enjoy what’s been happenin’ while you were gone.

Aaron felt his heart sink. It was Tommy’s voice—he sounded exhausted, almost empty. Whatever he went through must’ve taken a lot out of him, and it certainly didn’t sound like good news.

Aaron sat down on the edge of the bed, fiddling with his fingers. “Jus’ spit it out a-already.”

What was the last thing you remember when you fronted?

Blurred images came into his mind. There was a body, blood was everywhere. A fox—a false face; the false face unmasked. It had a distorted voice, it spoke and then… he was drawing up a blank. Nothing. Nothing came after that but a constant loop of the fox’s voice. It replayed over and over in his brain like a broken record.

“Hello, Aaron. Long time no see.”

Aaron swallowed nervously. “I-I remember hearin’ a voice before I… before I blacked out.”

That voice—That was Rebecca. Whenever you blacked out Roy stepped in an’ he…

Tommy’s voice trailed off, which didn’t help with Aaron’s increasing worries. It wasn’t looking good for any of them.

“What happened?” he asked, but there was no response—only silence. “T-Tommy?”

S-Sorry, kiddo. Roy he… he attacked Rebecca. He would’ve killed her if not for what she said. The police were comin’ an’ she threatened to use our past against us.

Aaron could feel his hands start to shake. “How’d he e-escape then?”

Rebecca forced him to come with her to Creekside.

It clicked, then. The dirt road outside, the forest, the distinct scent of pine and lilac scented candles—this was Rebecca Kramer’s house. Terror rooted Aaron to his spot on the bed, hands hovering.

“N-No,” he shook his head. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing; he didn’t want to believe it. “No. No, n-no. W-We gotta—W-We-We gotta get outta here. W-W-… it-it can’t—”

Aaron, I already tried breakin’ down the door, Tommy told him, sounding sorrowful, regretting ever having spoken in the first place. We’re gonna get out. Jus’ not now.

“Do-Don’t say that!”

Aaron was rather quick to yell this time. The force of the scream made his body ache. His chest ached in particular, and he ran a hand down along his shirt, glancing down.

His heart stuttered at the sight of flecks of dried blood. Alex’s blood.

The binder, Sawyer spoke.

Aaron lifted his head. “Huh?”

You need to take the binder off. It’s been… shit, over 24 hours now since we put it on.

Hands trembling, Aaron blinked at Sawyer’s words. He tried to move fluidly, to merely pull off his shirt, but he couldn’t. He was petrified, frozen in fear. When would Rebecca be back? What was she planning on doing with them?

Tears sprung to his eyes, and he folded in on himself, sinking from the edge of the bed to the floorboards as he collapsed in a heap and sobbed.

Aaron, Tommy’s voice was hushed, even in Aaron’s head. Hey, it’s gonna be alright.

In response, all Aaron could muster was a moan. “No,” he croaked, cradling his head, cheeks wet with tears. “No, y-you dunno… du-dunno what’s gonna happen! I c-can—I can’t do this again!” He was pleading now, pulling his hair. “Tom-Tommy, please, not-not her!”

Somewhere between his desperate pleas and the tugging at their hair did Tommy come upon the startling realization: they missed their medication. Who knows how long Rebecca was going to keep them there, and they’d been taking that medication for almost ten years.

This was going to affect everything and everyone.

Aaron, listen to me.

Yeah, Aaron, listen to Tommy. Jus’ breathe.

“Ca-Can’t…” A wince, and Aaron’s sniffling turned into shaky gasps for air. “Hurts…”

Take off the binder, bub.

“B-But what if sh-she…”

If she does anythin’ jus’ call me. Rushman wasn’t shit and neither is she, I ain’t afraid, but right now you need to take off the binder.

Reluctantly, Aaron lifted his shirt up, wincing in pain with every moment. He looked down at the binder with hesitation, not wanting to see what’s underneath. However the soreness and the struggling to breathe overrode any of Aaron’s wants. Taking in as deep of a breath as he could, he crossed his arms over his head, leaning forward as he slowly slipped out of the binder.

Relief washed over him for a brief moment as he could finally suck in a painful but full breath. However the relief did not last long as while there were no mirrors in the bedroom, Aaron could still see a faint reflection within the paintings on the wall. There were red splotches all over his ribs—his skin hot to the touch.

He felt ashamed.

He collapsed onto the floor as the tears came crashing down once more. He held his knees to his chest, loud sobbing shaking his whole body. He didn’t care that his ribs were in pain every time his body shook, he just hated to look at his chest. It reminded him of everything that was wrong with him—and everything Rebecca did to him.

“I ca-ca-can’t do this” He muttered, eyes burning from the tears. “P-Please, not… n-not again.”

She’s not goin’ to hurt you, kiddo. As long as we’re here she’s never goin’ to lay a finger on you.

“I-I don’t… don’t know i-if I can face h-…her again.”

You can, bub. Like Tommy said, long as we’re ‘ere that lady ain’t gonna do nothin’ to ya

Their words were comforting, and for a moment, Aaron felt safe.

However that feeling did not last as his thoughts were halted once he heard the sound of a vehicle parking outside. He crawled over to the window, barely poking his head above the sill. The car was recognized almost immediately and his heart dropped as he saw a familiar figure step out with several bags.

It was Rebecca Kramer.

Rising to his feet, he paced, and paced, and paced about the room in a full panic. “Can’t. Can’t, I can’t, I—”

His hand found purchase on the mattress as he swayed on his feet, unsteady. Ultimately, he collapsed upon it, burying his face in the covers and trembling. Aaron was sick with fear, every muscle tense at the sound of the front door opening downstairs. The Boogeyman had returned.

A familiar prickling sensation crawled up the back of his neck as his head throbbed with a familiar ache. Aaron didn’t fight it, far too tired and willing to give up the reins to someone else, distraught from all the agony he’s had to endure. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to manage at all without any of them.

Thank you. Thank you.

Relax, Aaron. Relax.

The last thing he heard before gratefully, blessedly surrendering, was the call of his name.

“Aaron! I’m home!”

Thump, thump, thump. Stomping up the stairs, Rebecca approached Aaron’s bedroom and raised her fist, knuckles rapping upon the door three times in quick succession.

“I’m making dinner,” she said, pride in her voice. “It should be ready in about thirty minutes. Any requests?”

She was initially left with no response. The smile on her lips faded somewhat, and she tried again. “Aaron?” Then, “Or is it Tommy again? Roy?” Disgust crossed her features. “God forbid—Evangeline?”

Nothing. Stepping away from the door, Rebecca set her hands on her hips and lifted her chin.

“Fine. I’ll be back when dinner’s ready. Don’t hold your breath, now.”

A little over half an hour later, through blood, sweat, and tears, a meal for two had been prepared. Before her, on a candlelit table, sat a plate of fried chicken, a bowl of mashed potatoes, honey glazed yams, and baked beans. She’d set an apple pie aside as well, propped up on a pie holder upon the counter beside the oven.

Adjusting her hair in the living room mirror, Rebecca fixed the collar of her button-up shirt—she’d changed into more suitable attire—and ascended the stairs once more, rapping her fist upon the wooden door.

“Aaron,” she prayed it was Aaron this time, “dinner’s ready. You wouldn’t want it to get cold, now, would you?”

Nervously, she bit the inside of her cheek, rocking on the balls of her feet.

The floorboards creaked. Rebecca snapped to attention as, distantly, she heard footsteps beyond the door. They grew in volume, and she took a step back as she saw the shadow from beneath the door. Hope swelled within.

“Aaron?”

There was a reply this time, distinct and clear. Her heart sank. It wasn’t Aaron’s voice; it wasn’t one she had heard before.

“I’m ready. Open the door. I won’t attack you.”

The voice was absent of any Southern accent. The diction was perfect, and if she had to place it, Rebecca would consider it to be a general American accent. No twang, proper grammar, and as opposed to Roy, Tommy, or even Eva, startlingly calm.

Hesitantly, she produced the key from her pocket and unlocked the door, opening it towards her. Aaron’s body stood just beyond the threshold, but just from the way he held himself, she knew it wasn’t him. He stood tall and didn’t slouch, head he’d eye as he looked down upon her. His hands were held in front of him, fingers entwined, hands clasped together.

Rebecca stared in awe and confusion. Wrinkling her nose, she crossed her arms over her chest as she asked, “And who are you? You’re obviously not Aaron. Or, hell, any of the others for that matter.”

Aaron—whoever it was, didn’t provide an answer. Not at first. They stared at Rebecca with utter contempt, scowling.

Seconds passed, and they released a sigh.

“Gabriel. You may call me Gabriel.”

The dinner with Rebecca was tense to say the least. The two of them were sitting on opposite sides of the dining table, neither of them speaking a word to the other. While Rebecca was happily enjoying her meal, Gabriel stared down at her with an unbreaking gaze.

He looked down at his plate, barely even moving a muscle. The food didn’t look quite right—almost artificial looking. The body was telling him to eat something, anything really, but he couldn’t—or at least wouldn’t—bring himself to eat any of it.

Rebecca finally broke the silence. “You’re not hungry? You haven’t eaten in a while.”

Gabriel gaze met hers once again, an almost unnerving feeling washed over her.

“This wasn’t homemade,” he stated, not blinking even once.

Rebecca chuckled nervously. “Right.” She cleared her throat in an attempt to break the tension. “So there’s more of you, correct.”

“That is none of your concern, Ms. Kramer.”

She tapped her fingers impatiently on the table. “Well, Gabriel, considering that woman in your head tried to lie about the rest of you, I feel like it’s my right to know.”

Gabriel scraped his nails against the wooden table’s surface, narrowing his eyes in disgust.

“It is also my right to not tell you, Ms. Kramer. It is my job to make sure all of them are safe. I make sure whoever is fit to run the body is up first, and whoever is unfit stays behind. I know of their memories and their traumas; I’m responsible for keeping them away from danger because of those memories.”

He leaned forward.

“Since we are forced to live with you, those memories are resurfacing, so I have to take care of things here. Just like my role is to decide who gets to front, I get to decide whether I should tell you about them. My decision is that is none of your concern, Ms. Kramer.”

Rebecca scowled at Gabriel, but chose not to say anything, she knew there was no point in arguing. She let out a deep sigh. “Are you the reason that Aaron hasn’t been around?”

“Of course.” He clasped his hands together. “Poor child is far too terrified of you to even consider coming up front.”

Rebecca scoffed in disbelief. “Why would he be scared?”

“You know why.”

Gabriel narrowed his eyes again, gaze unbreaking and unblinking. That look, unnatural on her Aaron’s face, put Rebecca on edge—almost afraid. Silence fell between the two once more.

He was the one to break the silence moments later, telling her with a straight face, “You’re going to Hell, you know that, right?”

Nearly choking on her food, Rebecca’s eyes widened, silverware clattering to her plate. “Excuse me?”

He continued, “Everything you’ve done—to Aaron, to the rest of the system, to Linda and Alex—God does not look kindly upon you for any of it. You are far beyond saving.”

“I don’t believe in that stuff,” Rebecca said with a frown.

Gabriel clasped his hands together again, his piercing gaze unwavering. “It doesn’t matter. God will not forgive you for what you’ve done. You’ll be sent down to the deepest pits of Hell and you will burn there for all of eternity.”

Stunned, Rebecca stared at the food set before the both of them. Her hand shook as she grabbed a napkin and dabbed at the corner of her mouth.

“Well,” she huffed, “so much for dinner, then. I go out of my way to make you a nice meal, and this is the thanks I get?”

“I’m not Aaron, Ms. Kramer,” Gabriel reminded her, voice monotone. “Believe me, he’d rather be anywhere else than with you.”

“SHUT UP!”

She slammed her fist on the table, rising and towering over him. This was enough to cause Gabriel to jerk back in shock, tilting his head back as Rebecca stood. He’d begun to scramble to his feet, eyeing the front door, when he caught a glint in the corner of his eye.

The carving knife, laid out on the table. There was no use for it, as there was no meat that needed carving. How hadn’t he seen it before?

Held tightly in her hand, Rebecca pointed the blade in Gabriel’s direction as he started to move, gritting her teeth. “Sit down,” she ordered, the flames of the candles illuminating icy emerald irises. “Sit down, or I won’t hesitate to hurt you if I have to, Aaron.”

His right eye twitched. Gradually, Gabriel lowered himself to his seat, watching her every move, ready to sprint any minute now.

Is everything alright?

Tommy. Gabriel grimaced, flexing his hands on the chair’s armrests. It’s all under control, Thomas.

“You won’t eat my food,” Rebecca’s voice cut off Gabriel’s internal conversation. He’d only just opened his mouth to speak, when she lunged forward and snatched his plate away from him. “Fine! Then you won’t eat at all.”

Terror settled in the system’s empty stomach. Gabriel’s gaze flicked towards the food, then back to Rebecca.

“You can’t do this.” He shook his head. “We’ll starve.”

“Then I suggest you make up your mind tomorrow.”

She stalked closer towards Gabriel, the blade coming closer. He gulped audibly.

“You can’t go forever without food,” she said with a shrug, chuckling. “You’ll be grateful for what I have to offer you. Trust me, Aaron.”

“Gabriel.”

“ENOUGH!”

The knife was raised high above her head. Gabriel shielded himself, squeezing his eyes shut and shouting out protests, body curling into a fetal position.

Instead of undergoing immense pain from a stab wound, however, he heard a distinct thwack, causing the table to shake. When he opened his eyes, he saw that Rebecca had jammed the blade into the wood, so deep that it was stuck. She released her hold on the knife, and still it remained there, jutting out of the table.

A breath escaped her; she smiled, embarrassed. “Whoops.”

And what was Gabriel meant to say to that?

“You’re insane,” he ground out, clenching his fists.

“Oh,” she tilted her head slightly, “am I? Am I really?” She started pacing around the kitchen, hands shaking in front of her. “Am I truly the insane one?”

Rebecca let out a laugh.

“I’m the insane one?”

All of a sudden, she exploded into a fit of uncontrollable laughter that made Gabriel stand and take a few steps back. He was uneasy and it was very clear in his mind that this woman was not well. It was as though a demon had taken hold of her body.

“Oh, God.” She wiped the tears out of her eyes. “That’s hilarious. That is rich coming from you, Aaron.”

She placed a hand on her chest as she recovered from her bout of laughter, still letting out a few chucked here and there. Gabriel still kept his stance just a few feet away from her, afraid of what she might do.

“Now run along, boy.” She waved him off with her other hand. “Go back to your room.”

Gabriel’s voice wavered. “But I—”

His words were cut short when Rebecca’s fist slammed against the table, causing him to flinch.

“I said GO TO YOUR ROOM!”

Without saying another word, he turned around and headed right up the stairs, not bothering to look back at the evil watching his every move.

When walking down the hallway, he paused by Rebecca’s room. The door was still cracked open as if she hadn’t even stepped foot inside her room since they all got here. In the little crack he could still see the hatch door of the attic still clear as day. He looked around to see if Rebecca had followed him, and once there was no sign of her he opened the door just a little bit more.

The moment he entered the room, he was hit with several different kinds of scents. Pleasant scents, yes, but overwhelmingly strong ones. In the limited view that he had, he saw several candles lit across the bedroom, each one having a different label with a different scent. It struck Gabriel as odd—why would she need so many different kinds of candles lit?

His eyes trailed back to the hatch door. With the better view of it he could now see a shelf just below the door, with several stacks of blankets shoved on top of the shelf that prevent the door from opening all the way. An uneasy feeling washed over him as he thought over the many implications.

Just before he could get a closer look, he heard footsteps downstairs heading in his direction. Quickly, Gabriel bolted into his bedroom and slammed the door shut behind him. His heart was racing, chest rising rapidly with quick breaths.

Just a moment later there was a knock on the door and a voice rang out.

“Aaron, is everything alright in there? I didn’t scare you, did I?”

Trying to ease his erratic breathing, he called back out to her, “Yes! I’m… I’m fine!”

There was no response in return. After a few minutes, Gabriel assumed Rebecca had left. With a deep sigh he dropped down to his knees beside the bed, hands clasped in prayer. There were no crosses in the bedroom but he could still envision one so clearly in his mind.

He prayed for the Lord to grant him strength.

He prayed for freedom from this prison soon.

God help him, he prayed for Rebecca Kramer’s demise.

Exhausted and hungry, Gabriel rose from his knees sunk down into the mattress, trying to ignore the growling of their stomach.

Sleep would do them good.

Shaking hands felt the heavy weight of a pickaxe’s handle, unsteady and nearly slipping from their grasp. Mouth drier than the desert, a breath was attempted, inhaling nothing but coal dust.

Pick it up. Pick it up.

The tool fell from their hands. It was dark, hard to see anything, even with the flashlights on their helmets. The shouting was loud, distinguishable amongst the clinking of sharpened steel upon rock. Knees wobbling with every step, they reached out and grasped onto the shirt of—someone.

A loud crack sounded out. There was a gasp, and then…

The first thing they realized when they awoke again, with a gasp, was the uncomfortable ache in their stomach.

As per usual, it was difficult to figure out who was in charge. All they seemed to acutely be aware of was the gnawing hunger, and the lingering images of a reoccurring nightmare. The familiar weight of a tool, and a man, large and strong, whiskey on his breath.

“P-Papa.”

So it was Aaron at the front this time around. Trembling hands wiped the sweat from his face, legs swinging over the side of the bed. Lord, he was hungry.

The fuck? Did ya let us starve?!

I refused to eat her food.

Stubborn fuckin’ priest.

“Guys,” Aaron whimpered, rubbing his temples, “p-p-…please. Head hurts real bad…”

The voices quieted almost instantly.

Squinting in the darkness, Aaron got to his feet. He felt disgusting, sweaty and hot. When did he last change his clothes? How long had it been since he walked in on Rebecca and—

“A-…Alex.” The name came out as a stammer, voice barely above a whisper. “God, he-he really—‘s really dead, ain-ain’t ‘e?”

No one replied. Maybe it was for the best.

Hands fisting in the material of his jeans, Aaron sucked in a deep breath and exhaled. Determined now, he shook his head. “No-No more games. W-We gotta get outta here.”

You’re tellin’ me, bub.

Should burn this damn place to the ground.

Ignoring Tommy’s comment, Aaron glanced at the clock hanging on the wall, struggling to read it in the moonlight. From what he could tell, it seemed to read as 1:35 AM. The house was quiet, save for the subtle creaking of the floorboards with every step Aaron took.

The cunt’s likely t’ be asleep, Sonny.

Best time to sneak up on ‘er now, get ‘er when she least expects it.

Cool it, Tom.

The memory of warm blood coating his hands remained vivid as ever within Aaron’s mind. No, he wouldn’t kill again. None of them would.

Approaching the door, Aaron attempted to turn the knob. In spite of his best efforts, he couldn’t turn it all the way—it was locked.

What are you doin’, boy?! Look around the place, find somethin’ to pick the lock! You remember how it’s done, right?

He placed his head against the door as he was reminded of all the times his old man had locked him out of the house a few times, even locked him up in his own room. It happened so many times he had taught himself how to pick lock doors and how to sneak through the house.

As quietly as he could, he searched every inch of the bedroom. Under the pillows, behind the paintings, even under the faux plants. He found nothing until he went through the drawers. In them there were several neatly folded shirts stored in one of the compartments, in another there were several pants. All of which felt a little bit too familiar to what Aaron liked.

How long has this bitch been waitin’ for us to come here?

She’s fuckin’ crazy.

Quiet! Aaron’s trying to focus.

He shook away the increasing anxiety creeping up behind him as he scoured the drawers for anything useful. As if God himself blessed him, Aaron’s hand found its way to a handful of hairpins that were hidden within the socks compartment. He grabbed a few before hurriedly rushing back over to the door.

With shaking hands, he bent one of the hairpins apart, sticking one end of it in the lock and bending it slightly. He grabbed the other end of the pin and twisted it into a handle. He grabbed another hairpin and bent it into a right angle with as much strength as he could muster up.

Aaron stuck the second pin into the lock, twisting it to the direction where it would open. He inserted the other pin into the lock and started feeling for the inside. He wiggled the bent pin up a few times before hearing an audible click! The lockpicking was working!

He could feel the muscle memory coming back to him as he worked through the lock. For a brief moment he felt like he was right back at his old home. He wondered if that place was still there after all these years. The thought gave him an odd sense of comfort.

After a few long seconds, Aaron heard a final click—the door was unlocked. He smiled to himself at the accomplishment but it quickly went away once the severity of the situation settled in.

He pushed the door open as lightly as he could—cringing at the slight creaking sound it emitted. He peeked out into the hallway and saw Rebecca’s room was shut, no sign that she could be awake at this hour.

No shit, Sonny. Now stick to the walls, less creakin’ ‘round there. Keep the socks on too, you won’t stick t’ the floor boards tha’ way.

After a few stretches, and a few deep breaths, Aaron did as he was told. He stuck to the walls like glue, each step feeling heavier than the last, though like Roy had said, there was significantly less creaking near the walls. He found himself trying to regulate his breathing, even holding his breath the closer he got to Rebecca’s door.

Having finally made it to the stairs, Aaron breathed out through his nose and peeked down the steps. It was dark, no light in sight, save from the glow of the moonlight. Carefully, he made his trek down each step, wincing. There was little he could do to prevent the creaking of the aging wood under the weight of his feet. He moved slowly, carefully, hands bunched in his shirt.

A particularly loud creak made him jump, almost tumbling down the stairs. Clapping his palm over his mouth, Aaron peered over his shoulder, waiting with bated breath for Satan incarnate to emerge and rear its ugly head this way.

The tension eased from his body when, thankfully, Rebecca did not stir from slumber. Resting a hand over his heart, Aaron descended the stairs until he was standing in the middle of a hallway that connected the adjoining rooms of the house: the kitchen, the living room, and the dining room. His eyes flitted towards the archway of the kitchen.

His mouth watered.

Without any deliberation, Aaron padded into the kitchen, stomach emptier than it had been in years. He threw open the refrigerator door first, scanning its contents and opening drawers.

Yuck. ‘s that broccoli? Bitch ain’t got no good taste neither.

Broccoli? Really? That’s what you’re worried about?

Hell, don’t come for my taste buds now, Mr. Lemon Pie.

Lemon pie is damn good, you lil’ shit.

“Tommy,” Aaron whispered, brows furrowed. “You an’ Roy—cut it out. N-…Now ain’t the time.”

That was when his gaze locked on something: a small cup of yogurt, strawberry flavored. He snatched it and closed the door, scouring the kitchen drawers for utensils. Happening upon the silverware, Aaron grabbed a spoon and immediately began to dig in. Flavor exploded on his tongue, and he swore he hadn’t tasted anything better.

The yogurt was devoured in seconds. He tossed it in the trash and licked the spoon clean, pocketing it so that Rebecca wouldn’t find it later in the sink or dishwasher. In the pantry, amongst the snacks, he found a bag of Fritos chips, tucking it under his arm. Then, he returned to the fridge, where he seized a bottle of cold water, just before turning to face the back door.

A couple of steps, and they would be free.

Aaron approached the door, his pulse pounding in his veins. His fingertips just ghosted the doorknob.

Aaron. Stop.

Roy’s voice made Aaron go rigid. “W-What?”

We can’t leave yet.

The fuck’re you talkin’ ‘bout, Roy?

Eat shit, Sawyer. ‘m tryin’a protect Sonny, protect all of us!

“Protect us?” Aaron questioned, wincing as Roy shouted. “What-What’re y—”

‘s her, Sonny, Roy cut him off. You weren’t there. She’s gon’ report us ‘f we try anythin’ funny.

Aaron’s blood turned to ice. Rotating on his heels, he peered down the hall towards the staircase. “Rep-port us?” he repeated, cradling the bag of chips close to his chest. “To the a-au-…authorities?”

Yessir. Dunno ‘bout you, but it might be easier for them pigs t’ believe a helpless woman over the Butcher Boy o’ Saint Michael’s.

The title made Aaron turn pale. He hadn’t been called the Butcher Boy since being admitted to Daisyland. Were the police already hot on his trail after finding Alex’s body? What if they came to Creekside?

“They go-gotta believe us—”

Marty ain’t gonna.

Somehow, Aaron had completely forgotten about Mr. Vail. His body shook.

Sonny—

Aaron cut Roy’s words off, “We c-can take her car. Hot-Hotwire it.”

Think any of us know how t’ hotwire a car?

I tried once, Tommy spoke now. When we was out on the street. Didn’t work out. Almost got us arrested.

Great fuckin’ goin’, Tom.

The petty arguments were the least of Aaron’s troubles. He couldn’t be stuck here. He refused.

“The keys,” Aaron tried, “we’ll jus’ take the k—the keys.”

Any of us know how t’ drive?

Shit, a cop could pull us over. Then we’d really be fucked.

Aaron looked at the wall phone near the fridge, the cord dangling from the receiver. He imagined a conversation with the 911 operator: Hi, Operator, it’s the Butcher Boy of Saint Michael’s, callin’ for help. I’ve been kidnapped after fleein’ the scene o’ the crime where my friend was killed exactly in the way the archbishop I killed ten years ago was. Y’know, the one who was touchin’ kids and filmin’ them havin’ sex?

The Fritos fell to the floor. Aaron blinked, stared at it for a few moments, and bent down to pick it up. Tears blurred his vision.

“I…” He wiped his running nose on his forearm. “I w-wa-w—…I wanna go home.”

I know, kiddo. Tommy’s voice sounded just as exhausted as Aaron’s did. I know.

Aaron held the chips and bottle of water like he was a kid holding a teddy bear. Begrudgingly, he began to ascend the stairs. “D-D’ya think s-sh—…she’ll let us visit Mama a-at least?”

Like… her grave? She even have one?

“S-She’s gotta.” He found himself quietly heading back up the stairs while he spoke. “She might be a-at that church wh-w-…where Papa p-preached at.”

Fuck that! I ain’t goin’ back there!

Roy!

Don’t start with me, Tom. You barely knew the bastard when he was still alive. You don’t know what he did at damn ol’ church.

Aaron was tired of Roy and Tommy’s arguing, this was the last thing he needed in a situation like this. He gripped his hair in frustration as the tears blurred his vision again.

“Shut up! Jus’ shut up, you two!”

He immediately clasped his hand over his mouth, heart thumping as he anxiously eyeballed the door to Rebecca’s room. He was only just a few steps away from the top but he didn’t dare to move an inch. He held his breath for what felt like hours.

After what felt like forever, and after no sign of activities from Rebecca’s room, Aaron finally let out a sigh of relief. He slowly tiptoed his way back to the room, being extra careful when passing by her room. While there was still no sign of movement from within, he was still terrified of having the Devil herself find him sneaking out from his prison.

As soon as he stepped back into his room, he dropped the bottle and chips as he collapsed onto the floor in quiet sobs. There was no more chatter from Roy or Tommy which made the tears fall even harder—he felt alone.

“I c-ca-can’t do this no more,” he cried out, cheeks wet and eyes puffy.

‘ey shhhh, it’s gonna be okay, bub.

Aaron lifted his head from his hands. “S-Sawyer?”

You betcha. Been here the whole time while Tiny and Gramps were cat fightin’ earlier. Sorry for letting ya deal wit’ all that by the way.

“‘s fine.” Aaron wiped the tears off with his arm. “Are they a-alright?”

Yeah, yeah—they’re fine. Don’t worry ‘bout ‘em. What you should worry ‘bout are those chips and that water of yours.

Aaron looked over at the Fritos and the water bottle laid out beside him. He sniffled as pick them up, hopping up from the floor.

“W-What should I—”

Hide ‘em behind the drawers, Sawyer spoke before Aaron could finish. That thing’s pretty big, it could cover ‘em up. Drink some of that water while you’re at it.

Throughout all of this Aaron hadn’t even realized how thirsty he was. Immediately he twisted the cap open and began gulping it down. It was as if he found it while traversing through a desert. It was refreshing, unlike anything he’d ever had.

He nearly drank the whole thing down before stopping himself, quickly twisting the cap back on and carefully placing down the bottle with the chips behind the big dresser. It wasn’t very heavy but Aaron didn’t want to risk knocking down the candle or the plants.

After all was said and done, he flopped down on the bed, not even bothering to change into any of the clothes Rebecca had put in the drawers. He was too mentally exhausted to take care of himself. Kicking off his socks, he drew the blankets over himself, peering out through the window from the bed.

“You s-still there, Sawyer?” Aaron asked, looking for any sort of comfort.

Yeah. I’m still here, bub.

He pulled the spoon out from his pocket, fiddling with it in his hand.

“I-I don’t know w-wh-what to do.” He spoke in a hushed tone. “‘m so scared, Sawyer. I c-can’t face her again.”

Shhh—it’ll be okay. We all make sure you won’t ever have to face her, m’kay? I know Tommy n’ Roy are… a lot but they mean well. They just want to make sure you’re safe, we all do.

Aaron held himself in his arms as exhaustion started creeping up on him. “P-Promise me. Promise m-me y’all will ke-k—…keep me away from her”

You have my word. Now get some rest, you’re gonna need it.

He closed his eyes. “G’night, Sawyer.”

Goodnight, bub.

Chapter Text

Shaking hands felt the heavy weight of a pickaxe’s handle, unsteady and nearly slipping from their grasp. Mouth drier than the desert, a breath was attempted, inhaling nothing but coal dust.

Pick it up. Pick it up.

The tool fell from their hands. It was dark, hard to see anything, even with the flashlights on their helmets. The shouting was loud, distinguishable amongst the clinking of sharpened steel upon rock. Knees wobbling with every step, they reached out and grasped onto the shirt of—someone.

A loud crack sounded out. There was a gasp, and then…

The figure before them came into view. Within their grasp, by his soot covered clothes, they held onto their papa, red-faced and screaming.

They blinked. The figure shifted, reaching forward and gripping onto their wrist.

Archbishop Rushman.

Their grip loosened.

Pain exploded across their face. Panting and fumbling about, they raised themselves up on their knees, blinking. This definitely wasn’t their bed. Still waking from slumber, they rubbed their eyes, swaying on their knees.

A palm laid flat on the hardwood floor.

Therein was a part of the problem—they’d ended up on the floor. Groaning, they hauled their body to their feet, collapsing on the bed, sliding back underneath the covers. A quick glance to the clock, and their brows raised. Apparently, they’d slept in, because it was almost noon.

And unfortunately, they were still in the same bedroom they’d been confined to before falling asleep.

Still trying to figure out who was fronting, they stretched their arms out and yawned, rolling their shoulders. They’d been ready to just go back to bed when they heard a voice from beyond the door.

“Aaron? Aaron, are you alright?”

Tommy shot upright. Rebecca—she must have heard him cry out when he woke up. Tucking his knees to his chest, he replied in his own voice, “Yes. ‘m jus’ fine.”

He heard the approaching footsteps and curled even further in on himself, scooching as far back on the mattress as possible. Hands gripped the blankets as the door was unlocked and opened, revealing Rebecca standing in the doorway, dressed in a modest shirt and jeans.

She asked, “You sure?” and Tom wanted to scream. He hated her, he hated her. He didn’t even look at her when she added, “I heard a bang, and I thought—”

“I fell,” he interrupted, an edge to his tone. “Had a nightmare. What’s it t’you anyway?”

Rebecca’s mouth hung open before closing. She crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re my guest.”

“Thinkin’ the better word’s ‘prisoner,’” he retorted, spitting the word. “Didn’t come ‘ere on my own volition.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Tommy.”

Tommy’s train of thought halted. So she could tell which of them was fronting now? This wasn’t good. He took a deep breath and tried to keep a cool head.

“‘f that’s the case, then,” he said, evenly, “mind ‘f I take a shower? Been wearin’ the same bloody clothes for two days now, y’know.”

Rebecca waved him off. “Oh, no worries! I’ve got some clothes prepared for you in the drawer here!”

She opened up a few of the compartments and pulled out several articles of clothes. Tommy almost winced as he swore he could hear the crumpling of a bag coming from behind the drawer. However Rebecca didn’t seem to notice, happily pulling out several articles of clothing and laying them down on the bed as if nothing was off.

In front of Tommy was a gray shirt, a plaid green button up, and a pair of light blue jeans. He visibly cringed as he realized that these were clothes that Aaron would like; they were exactly the kind of clothes he would like.

“I also have several pairs of shoes in my room if you ever get tired of the ones you have.”

Rebecca gave Tommy a pleasant smile that made him scowl in return.He needed her gone.

“Thanks.” His tone was flat and monotonous. The word felt forced coming out of his mouth. It didn’t feel right saying it to her.

He hesitated for a moment before slowly grabbing each piece of clothing, making sure Rebecca didn’t leave his field of vision. She didn’t seem to care, however, as she only observed him with an unnerving smile set upon her features. Tommy could feel her gaze burning into his skin.

Suddenly she clasped her hands together. “Oh! You said you needed a shower, right?” She took a step forward, towards him. “I could join—”

“NO!”

Tommy’s eyes were wild, arm reached out as if he was trying to shield himself from something. She flinched at the sudden yelling, to which he took notice immediately. It seemed like he didn’t even notice his own change in tone. He paused for a moment before closing his hand into a fist, taking a deep breath.

“Jus’… no. Jus’ point t’where ‘s at, I can figure it out alone.”

Rebecca looked like she was going to protest, but instead she shook her head as she stepped out of the bedroom.

“It’s down the hallway here.” She pointed to something that was out of view. “It’s right by the stairs. If you ever change your mind though, I’ll be downstairs.”

She gave one final smile before walking away. Tommy didn’t even budge until he heard her footsteps creaking down the stairway. Even as she was very clearly on the first floor, he still hesitated to even move. He wasn’t even sure if he wanted to shower anymore at this point

The body’s not gonna clean itself, y’know.

Tommy gripped his hair in frustration. He didn’t need Sawyer of all people trying to tell him how he should deal with Rebecca—not now at least.

“Shut the fuck up, Sawyer. You don’t get it. You don’t know what she did t’ me.”

I’m tryin’ to help, Tommy. This whole damn system seems to be fallin’ apart and youse been fallin’ the hardest. Someone’s gotta keep this body afloat.

Tommy groaned. “You wouldn’t be sayin’ this shit ‘f we was stuck with Rushman.”

If we were stuck wit’ Rushman I woulda had that bastard flayed alive and be halfway across the country by now. Now go to the bathroom, i’m tired of seeing you walkin’ around like some scared dog. I’m worried for ya.

Tommy muttered something to himself but he didn’t protest. He hopped up from the bed and promptly stomped down the hallway, opening the bathroom door and slamming it shut behind him. He didn’t care if Rebecca heard him, he just wanted to get this all over with.

He flipped the switch on while deliberately avoiding the mirror. He didn’t need to see how tired the body looked—he already knew.

Ten minutes later, after sufficiently steaming up the bathroom, Tommy stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his chest. Patches of his skin were red from where he’d scrubbed himself raw, but he didn’t care. He hated the smell of the soap; he hated being in there at all. Vague memories of keeling over in the same exact toilet after a session with Rebecca stood out in his mind. It had been after almost every single lesson, unable to hold it in until he got home.

Working on autopilot, he dressed in the clothes Rebecca brought him, combed out his hair, and didn’t bother wiping the fogged mirror. The dirty towel was left on the tiled floor as he opened the door.

Pushing it ajar, Tommy peeked out, listening for any sign of an approaching Rebecca. He heard footsteps, distantly from downstairs, though she wasn’t close. His hand pressed against the door to open it further and step out of the bathroom, when he heard an unfamiliar female voice coming from the television.

“…thank you. We begin this newscast with a rather gruesome story. Coming all the way from Rockford, Illinois, police were phoned by a Rudi Hines, who complained of strange noises in her neighbor, Alexander Lincoln’s home. Unfortunately, the authorities would not find much left of Mr. Lincoln, as his body was discovered in his bedroom, butchered and near unrecognizable.

“The police attempted to speak to Rudi Hines. Unfortunately, it would appear as though she’s disappeared, along with her car. Witnesses in the neighborhood attested that they witnessed Ms. Hines leave her house that night and to visit Mr.
Lincoln—when she returned, someone else was with her.”

Tommy couldn’t breathe. He remained in the bathroom, listening as the female newscaster stopped speaking. A male voice spoke up next, though the quality wasn’t as clear. It must have been a detective of some sort, or a police chief.

“It would seem that Alexander Lincoln’s murder was indeed committed in the same fashion as Linda Balfour’s, which was already suspiciously linked to Archbishop Richard Rushman’s murder in ‘95. The murder had initially been linked to Aaron Stampler—the Butcher Boy of St. Michael’s—but we couldn’t be sure.

“After analyzing the evidence of the crime scene, we can confirm that it was indeed Aaron Stampler that murdered Mr. Lincoln. At this time, we are still investigating the murder of Mrs. Balfour, but we do know for a fact that Mr. Stampler has taken a Ms. Rudi Hines hostage, and is no longer in the state of Illinois. We are now working valiantly with the Federal Bureau of Investigation to find them both.”

The FBI had been contacted. Tommy was sure that it wouldn’t take them long to find Rebecca or the system. Surely, this would mean their freedom, wouldn’t it?

Or would she turn it all on them?

“Aaron can’t know,” Tommy whispered, closing the door and leaning his forehead against it. “D’ya hear me? He can’t know.”

An’ how many more secrets’re we gonna keep from ‘im?

“Damn it, Sawyer, that ain’t the fuckin’ POINT!”

The shattering of glass alerted Tommy’s attention. He gasped, opening the door again, peeking his head out. Had someone broken in? Maybe Rebecca hurt herself? “Hello—?”

“Aaron!” Rebecca laughed; Tommy wilted almost immediately. “Sorry about that—dropped a glass! Silly me. Are you dressed?”

Tommy didn’t answer. Not until she pressed on.

“Aaron?”

“I’m goin’ t’ my room.”

He didn’t even wait for a reply before he dragged his feet across the floor down the hallway, heading into the bedroom but deliberately leaving the door cracked open. Just like how she would always ask of him before—just how she liked it.

Wait, Tommy, what are you—

Rapid footsteps were heard down the hallway with Rebecca bursting through the doorway just seconds after. “Aaron why are—”

She paused mid sentence as she saw the nearly empty yet dejected look in Tommy’s eyes.

He was sitting at the edge of the bed, staring off into nothing. He barely even noticed she was there.

Immediately she sat down beside him, hands cradling his face with a concerned look in her eyes. Tommy was aware of the contact but chose not to do anything about it. He was too mentally exhausted to care.

What are you doin’?

“Aaron?” Rebecca said. “What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

“I can’t… I can’t do this anymore.” Tears threatened to spill down Tommy’s cheeks. “I can’t take this no more.”

“What do you mean?”

“I jus’… I can’t…”

A single tear rolled down his face. Rebecca wiped away it with her thumb. “Hey, hey—shh. It’s okay, Aaron.” Her tone was soothing as she spoke, “I’m here, I’m right here, angel.”

She gave a comforting kiss to Tommy’s cheek to which he didn’t pull back. He knew where this would lead but he didn’t care anymore. He was too tired.

He deserved this.

What the—TOMMY DO SOMETHIN’!

“Let me take care of you. Let me take away your pain.”

Rebecca pressed another kiss to his cheek, and another, and another. The kisses began trailing down to his neck, soft and tender all the way down. Tommy didn’t want this, but he felt like he deserved it. After letting Linda and Alex die, letting Rebecca live, after everything. He just didn’t care anymore.

TOMMY!!

The hand that was still cradling his face started trailing down. Past his neck, past his neck, trailing farther and farther down. Tommy wasn’t even aware of what was happening anymore. His head was pounding as the tingly sensation on his neck grew in intensity.

Rebecca didn’t seem to notice his head dropping down; Tommy was unresponsive to any of her actions now. She didn’t care though, continuing to leave kisses along his neck as her hand trailed past his stomach. It trailed along his pants waistline when—

A hand gripped at Rebecca’s wrist—hard. Nails were cutting so deep she swore she could feel them breaking her skin. Another hand shot out, gripping her neck with so much pressure she thought it was going to snap right off.

Her eyes bulged. She looked up into Tommy’s, but she wasn’t met with the same sad look he had earlier. No—his were full of rage, nothing but pure hatred. So many years of unresolved pain and pent up aggression were behind those eyes.

These weren’t Tommy’s eyes anymore. This was somebody else.

“Who the hell do you think you are?”

There was not a trace of a southern accent behind that voice. A thick accent—a Brooklyn accent—addressed Rebecca. The anger in his eyes reminded her of Roy but she knew this wasn’t him. He would’ve never been able to replicate that voice.

This was Sawyer.

“W-Wh-…Who…”

The grip on her neck made it difficult for her to speak, but Sawyer already knew what she was going to ask.

“I ain’t tellin’ you”—he violently shook her head with every word—“a God. Damn. Thing. Do ya understand?”

With the one free hand she had Rebecca tried grabbing at his arm but she did not have enough strength to do much. The vice-like grip on her throat rendered her weak and at her captive’s mercy. For once, completely helpless, she felt true fear.

“Now I’m gonna say this once an’ only once.” He stared right into Rebecca’s fearful eyes. “If you ever touch him or any of us like that again, I’ll have you cut into so many pieces not even the police’ll recognize ya.”

Sawyer shook her head violently once again. “They’ll find ya so brutalized it’ll make your pathetic acts look like a fuckin’ circus display. That ain’t jus’ a threat—that’s a promise.”

He finally let go of his hold on Rebecca, shoving her down onto the floor. She found herself coughing as oxygen came back into her system, dragging in a ragged breath. She didn’t think she would be so close to death at the hands of this stranger, not since her meeting with Roy.

She stared up into Sawyer’s eyes and for once she couldn’t speak. The words were caught in her throat. His hateful gaze burned deep into hers and for a moment she was too stunned to even move.

Rebecca was looking into the eyes of her Aaron, and he wanted her dead.

She slowly crawled away from him, still coughing slightly as she rose up from the floor. She backed away out of the bedroom while she rubbed at her neck. She gave one final look to Sawyer before promptly walking out of sight, not a single word spoken.

Seconds, minutes passed. Time wasn’t always set in stone for them. Sometimes they could stare at a crack in the wall or a hole in the ground for hours at a time. Their gaze this time around seemed to be fixed on a spider, crawling on the windowsill. Aaron used to collect bugs in jars when they were a kid; Roy crushed them without a second thought.

Eventually, at a point, someone took control. An unsteady hand carded through their hair.

Without warning, and with a breath that sounded more akin to a wheeze, Tommy broke down into hysterical sobs.

Tom.

He didn’t respond to Sawyer’s call. Knees hit the ground hard, loud enough to shake the floorboards; he hiccuped and screamed and cried and cried and scratched his nails along the wood as he collapsed on his side.

Lipstick burned his skin, the kisses along his neck a rash that he began to claw at.

Stop that! You’re hurtin’ y’self!

Tommy didn’t stop. He scratched until the pain was searing, and then some. He scratched until he drew blood, tuning out Sawyer’s cries.

The fight died within him not long after that. Fingers red and sticky, Tommy let his arms fall limp to the floor, tears and blood rolling down his skin in rivulets.

TOMMY. PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER.

“I can’t,” he whimpered pathetically, lips cracked and dry, stuffy in clothes that he didn’t even want to wear. “I’m jus’… ‘m so tired, Sully…”

Sawyer paused. Tommy had thrown him off with his words, and it took a moment for him to reign himself back in.

You’re bleedin’. Fuckin’—listen t’ yourself, Tom! This ain’t you!

But Tommy just shook his head. “Promise ‘ll be good,” he mumbled, delirious and bleeding, “promise, jus’—please make it quick. Promise, ‘ll be your good girl.”

Jesus, Tommy.

Unless he fronted now, which seemed unlikely, they weren’t moving. Their body was exhausted, pained and trembling from the exhaustion brought on from sobbing. They needed to rest.

‘kay. Tom, ‘s time t’ sleep.

Gratefully, Tommy complied. “Okay. We… gonna go home when I wake up?”

Yeah, Tom. All of us’re goin’ home. Y’know you can count on me.

“Uh-huh.”

There was no attempt to crawl back into bed. Caring not to dress the bleeding wound on his neck, Tommy curled up on the floor and let his eyelids flutter shut. Oblivion would save him. Just for a little while. He hoped no one would mind.

Aaron was the first to rouse—and the first to realize how much pain they were all in. First, it was the ache in his shoulders and sides.

Then, it was the dried blood on his hands and neck.

He couldn’t help the scream that tore from his throat. Had they killed Rebecca? Was the cycle going to continue? Where were they supposed to go?

Aaron, Aaron—calm down.

The sound of Sawyer’s voice brought Aaron’s panicked train of thought to a halt. He relaxed his strained muscles, the pain in his neck a pulsing agony.

“Saw-Sawyer? What ha—”

Tommy scratched ‘imself. Rebecca, she…

Sawyer trailed off; Aaron shivered.

“What did sh-she do?”

She… touched ‘im. I stepped in t’ stop ‘er.

Nausea hit Aaron’s system almost immediately. He held his stomach as he tried to keep everything down. The thought of Tommy having to go through that made him sick.

“Is…Is he a-alright?”

I… Sawyer trailed off for a moment. I dunno, bub. Haven’t heard a word from ‘im since youse started frontin’.

Aaron started fiddling with fingers. “H-Have the others s-s-seen ‘im?”

He didn’t even want to think about Tommy disappearing like Roy did during the trial. He wouldn’t know what to do if such a thing happened. He held the system together like glue.

Don’t worry, Tommy’s still ‘ere but it ain’t lookin’ too good. Roy tried startin’ shit as he usually does but he didn’t even get a single response from the big guy. Nobody could get Tom to speak—not even Eva.

Aaron let out a deep sigh as ran his finger over the wound on his neck, wincing at the burning sensation. It was a relief Tommy was still back there but it was not a good sign that he wasn’t responding to anybody. If his own mama couldn’t get him to talk, what hope is left?

Look—I dunno what’s gonna happen. All I do know is we gotta be there for Tommy. I’m makin’ sure both you an’ ‘im never have to see her again.

Aaron nodded but did not reply. He slowly rose up from the floor, stretching out all the aches and sores from sleeping in an uncomfortable position in the process. He looked out at the setting sky through the window, enjoying what little peace it brought him. He wondered for a moment how long Tommy passed out before Aaron started fronting.

However while he was looking out he noticed something out of the ordinary: Rebecca’s car was missing. He doesn’t remember her saying she was leaving, and he certainly doesn’t remember hearing the car engine outside. How long had she been gone between the time Tommy fell asleep and Aaron woke up? When would she return?

Never mind that, bub, we gotta get to that attic. This’s the only chance we may ever get.

Aaron’s head suddenly shot up. “A-Attic?”

Shit I forgot you weren’t here. Look—in Rebecca’s room there’s a latch door on the ceilin’ that leads to what I’m assumin’ is an attic. Gabe an’ Tom have seen it but neither of ‘em have been able to actually get inside.

“W-What’s so i-im—…important ‘bout it?”

None of us know yet, but from what Gabe was describin’ it seems like Rebecca’s trying to hide somethin’.

Some felt familiar about the way Sawyer was describing this so-called “attic.” Aaron swore he remembers Rebecca mentioning something when he was younger but he never understood what she meant. Always said there was “nothing worth seeing” in her room, however his memory might’ve been playing tricks on him.

Shaking the unnerving feeling, Aaron slowly crept out of his room—which he found surprisingly unlocked. He surveyed his surroundings until his eyes fell upon a door that was slightly cracked open.

Rebecca’s room.

He tiptoed closer to the bedroom, inching closer and closer until he was just within arm’s reach. He reached his hand out to the door—

WAIT!

Sawyer’s sudden call made Aaron flinch. He looked around wildly—was Rebecca already back? Did she see them? This might’ve been their only chance.

Don’t worry, bub, she ain’t here. Sorry for the sudden yellin’ but I jus’ remembered that youse still got that wound on ya neck. You gotta take care of that first.

“B-But—”

I don’t wanna hear it. Go to the bathroom—it’s jus’ at the end of the hallway.

Aaron tensed. He cast a glance to Rebecca’s room, catching sight of the hatch in the ceiling leading to God knows what, and turned away. As he shuffled to the bathroom, he noticed that the light inside was on, pouring through the small slip below the door. Anxiety made his palms clam up, shaking hands reaching forward. No one was home, right?

Tommy just left it on, Aaron. Take it easy.

Stepping inside, Aaron paused. The first thing he noticed was the lingering scent of a particular bar soap—lavender, Rebecca’s favorite.

He smelled of lavender.

Swallowing the sickness threatening to rise, Aaron turned and faced the mirror. Steam no longer obscured his reflection, and now that he got a good look at himself after the past couple days, he wished he could curl up and disappear from this Earth forever.

He was pale. Ghastly. The dark circles under his eyes accentuated his features in the worst of ways.

Raising a hand, he gently ran the pads of his fingers along the dried blood on his neck, over the scratch marks along tender flesh. A hiss escaped him, and he went to work searching through the cabinets above and below the sink, finding bottles of rubbing alcohol and hydrogen peroxide.

The cuts stung as he ran a soapy, wet hand towel across his skin, scrubbing away the dried blood. His hands shook terribly when he ran it under the faucet, soaking up more warm water, and the sight of bloody water made his heart drop.

Alex’s body, mangled beyond recognition. Blood everywhere.

Don’t think ‘bout that. Don’t.

Peroxide was poured directly on the wounds. It hurt. It hurt, and Aaron pressed his forehead against the glass as he cried for what must have been the hundredth time. Could someone run out of tears? Surely it was possible. It had to be.

“Sorry,” was the only word that passed through cracked lips, “sorry, ‘m sorry.” He choked, sniffling and clutching the porcelain edges of the sink. “‘m so, s-so sorry… I-I’m jus’ so t-…tired…”

Aaron wasn’t sure Sawyer heard him. A dread-filled minute passed where he feared he’d been left alone. Until:

We all are, bub. You can do this. We’re ‘ere for ya.

Washing his hands of blood for the third time in his life—one time had been enough—Aaron dried his eyes and placed a thick band-aid along the jagged wounds across his neck. Most of it was surface level damage, thankfully. He missed Tommy; he couldn’t stop shaking.

Having to clench his fists to get ahold of himself, Aaron exited the bathroom and approached Rebecca’s bedroom again—the one place he’d been forbidden to even stand near when he was a freshman in high school and visiting the house three times a week.

Forcing himself to stand tall, he opened the door, hit with the overwhelming scent of various scented candles. It was familiar, but only distantly so. Had one of the others been here before?

The hatch was located in a clothes closet, half obscured by a rack of shirts. The metal pole that the hangers sat upon blocked the hatch, and upon further inspection, Aaron found that it was bolted in place on either side of the closet wall by screws. How was he supposed to pull it down with that in the way?

Find a screwdriver. There’s gotta be one somewhere.

Aaron swallowed. “She’ll notice.”

Gotta hurry then.

Sweat dripped down the back of his neck. He turned from the closet and peered out Rebecca’s window at the dusk skyline, the sun almost completely obscured beneath the horizon through the trees.

Adrenaline fueled him as he inspected each and every drawer in the bedroom. He tried each nightstand beside the bed, the cabinet, and the vanity. After coming up with nothing, he tried the other closet on the opposite side of the room. Inside, he found piles of books shoved in the far corner; on the other corner, covered in a layer of dust, was a bright red toolbox.

He grabbed the toolbox without a second thought, hauling it across the floor towards him and coughing at the cloud of dust he managed to kick up. His fingers had only just clicked open the latches when he caught something peculiar out of the corner of his eye.

On the very bottom of one of the book stacks was a different sort of book. It was large, thin, and black, like a scrapbook. Something was written on the front of it in silver Sharpie, half hidden by the novels upon it. Aaron could only make out the end tail of the word—

-ORIES

Curiosity got the better of him as he reached over to grab the scrapbook out from the stack. He was able to get a closer look at the silver writing which read out:

MEMORIES.

An uneasy feeling settled over Aaron. He had a bad feeling about the scrapbook but quickly swallowed his fears. He knew he shouldn’t be looking through this so he had to be quick. He didn’t have a lot of time.

When he flipped to the first page he could feel his heart drop almost instantaneously. On the first page he was met with a picture, one that he recognized, of him and Rebecca. She had an arm around his shoulders with a warm smile on her face, while he had a half grin. The picture looked innocent to the average person, but to Aaron it filled him with a sense of dread and nausea.

Rebecca always took pictures of the two of them together every time they had their meeting; she always wanted to “capture the memories.” However as Aaron quickly flipped through the pages the pictures became more and more provocative, with his memories of being there for the pictures becoming more and more blurry. Had Tommy been present for these?

The mere thought of him having to put in such vile poses and photos made Aaron sick to his stomach. He didn’t even want to think of such a thing, he almost wanted to apologize to Tommy for having to go through all of that. He felt like it was his fault.

He was ready to throw the scrapbook away, forget all of the memories of Rebecca and everything related to her, when his eyes caught something new.

A newspaper clipping.

The paper had a yellow tint to it indicating its old age. There was a big headline in the middle of the page. Aaron instantly recognized the printing as it was the same one his pa used to read every morning, but he doesn’t remember his pa reading this story. He doesn’t remember ever hearing about this story at all when he was younger.

In big bold text, the headline read:

APRIL 3RD 1989

LOCAL DOCTOR MYSTERIOUSLY DISAPPEARS

Just in the paragraph below the headline described how a doctor named Wilson Kramer, Rebecca’s husband, had disappeared without a trace. The police went on to question Rebecca about the whereabouts of her husband, but she stated she had no clue where he ran off to. The text ended with the police stating that “they’ll search every corner of Creekside to find where Mr. Kramer is. We pray that he’ll return safe and sound.”

Sweat dripped down Aaron’s face as he read through the clipping. His hands were shaking—he didn’t want to think of the implications. Mr. Kramer just ran away, right? That had to be the case. There’s no possible way Rebecca had anything to do with his disappearance.

His thoughts were quickly shut down as he flipped to the next page and was met with another newspaper clipping.

APRIL 13TH 1989

MISSING DOCTOR CASE CLOSED; LABELED SUICIDE

Aaron felt his heart dropped as he read how the police found a bloody gun, as well as some of Mr. Kramer’s bloodied clothes, in the forest near his home just a few days after he was labeled missing. They brought in Rebecca as a possible suspect, but after questioning her she was ruled out.
Once they tested the blood and the fingerprints found on the gun the results came back after a week; Everything matched up with Mr. Kramer. Soon after his case was closed and his death was labeled a suicide.

Fear settled into Aaron’s system as he quickly closed the scrapbook, tossing it deep into the closet. He could barely breathe, hands clamoring over the red toolbox while he tried desperately to forget everything about Wilson. His mind was racing though and his brain couldn’t stop imagining what Rebecca might’ve done to her husband.

“M-Mi-Miss. Kramer, are y-you o-o-…okay? You s-seem a…a bit t-tired.”

“Everything’s alright, my little fox. I was just up a little later than usual grading papers, that’s all.”

Aaron gripped his hair and shook his head wildly. He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to think about her. He felt the tears burn his eyes, wanting to scream his lungs out. He couldn’t take it anymore; he wanted to go home.

‘EY! Calm down, bub. She’s not gonna hurt ya. We’re gonna be home soon, I promise.

Wheezing out an exhale, Aaron closed the book and shoved it aside, jumping to his feet and almost hitting his head on the door. It was getting dark, the array of lit candles the only source of illumination in the room. Some were burnt so far down, the wick was up to barely an inch. One wrong move could send the whole house ablaze.

Why did she keep so many candles lit at all times?

Pondering this question for less than a millisecond, Aaron approached the clothes closet, shoving the hung shirts aside and unscrewing the screws that kept the pole tightly in place. Both sides were fasted tightly to the wall, and it was a feat of strength unscrewing them, but he worked quickly.

(When Pa demanded it, Aaron helped him with repairs around the house. When Pa wasn’t around, Mama asked him for help. He worked well with his hands. She told him he’d be a skilled artist one day.)

Along with the clothes, the pile fell to the floor with a clatter as he unscrewed the last screw. Having kicked it aside, Aaron turned his attention to the string hanging from the hatch above. He reached out his hand and tugged, releasing a wooden ladder.

Inside the closet, a metal cord dangled from the ceiling beside a light bulb. He pulled it, switching on the light and illuminating the dark unknown of the cellar above. One foot in front of the other, he began to climb. The moment he lifted his head into the cellar, Aaron was assaulted with a foul odor. His face screwed up in disgust, and he repressed the urge to vomit, gagging as he squinted his eyes in the darkness of the cramped place.

Near the trap door, he caught sight of something hidden under a dark sheet, a lumpy thing that stood out from the cardboard boxes that overflowed with storage supplies. Body halfway leaned over the open door, he tugged on the sheet, curious.

Curiosity killed the cat.

What he saw underneath was enough to make him keel over, vomiting up yesterday’s meal of corn chips and water from yesterday. Terror and panic made him shake, bile and spit burning his throat.

Lying beside him, illuminated only by the closet light and the half moon, was a rotting corpse.