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There wasn’t even a scream.
Hershel had felt the sweat beading on his palms as he held on, positive he’d have crushed through bone if he’d squeezed any more. But it wasn’t enough. If he’d have just held tighter. If he’d have thought to make sure he was right beside him when he jumped.
Hershel watched the face before him, once so close, its expression both warm and condescending, like it had made up its mind already. He watched it fall. He watched as it became inevitable to keep trying to hold on, yet he still stretched his arm forth to try and grab him, try and pull him back up and away from fate. But fate was always so, so stubborn.
There was a scream. A loud, desperate sound that belted from Hershel’s lungs like an explosion making its violent escape through a window. He didn’t even know what he was saying. Who he was saying it to, other than the boy he just watched disappear before him as the light dissipated the further the pit went down, veiling its true depth from him like a cruel joke. You don’t get to see him reach the bottom.
Randall. Randall. Randall. Randall. That was all he could hear in his mind.
“RANDALL!”
And silence. It was silent. Silent until the sound of his breathing picked up the bitter, mocking tranquility and ran with it as his chest tightened. It didn’t matter. None of it did anymore. He felt his body grow warm. Hot. Cold. Freezing. Tingly. Faint. Like he was going to throw up if he accepted any of it. Like he was going to fall into the abyss himself the longer he stared down the pit, as if staring down the throat of a god. One that had long since lost its capacity for empathy. Like the memory of the way Randall had looked when he fell was gripping him around the neck and trying to choke him. Kill him. He could see his fingers tremble with the rest of his body. His vision narrowed as he stared for what felt like minutes. Hours. Days, even, as his heartbeat stretched up through his neck, pounding against his ears like an alarm. Get out. Get out of the ruins.
Hershel reluctantly pulled his shaking hand up from the ledge with a certain stinging guilt that almost manifested as physical pain. He could feel the reluctance in his arm. In his body. He pulled away from the ledge finally as instinct took over, a primitive part of him telling him that he would die if he fell.
The puzzle afterwards he faced with a broken expression. He stared at the lock with a certain malice behind his gaze. He felt so many things at once. Anger. Grief. Shock. Fear. They all ran through him like rivers of magma through a forgotten city. Or perhaps one that had been so well kept that no citizen had expected it all to go wrong. But there was one more that tore at him more than any other. This one had a voice. It was talking to him. Screaming at him like the distant blaring of a siren that still managed to hurt your ears. Like the roaring of blood behind your eardrums. Like the ringing left behind after a bell toll. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault.
Guilt.
If he’d have just… Held on for a little longer. Convinced him to drop the mask. Maybe Hershel could have found the strength to pull him up enough to grab him with both hands. If he’d yelled a little louder… If he just didn’t let go…
He felt distant as he unlocked the door. He looked as calm to any bystander as the sound of the waves crashing against the rocky shore would be calming to the ear. Part of him still expected Randall to slap him on the back and congratulate him for doing it on his own. He stood for a moment. Several. He didn’t know what he was waiting for. His chest was still tight. What would he tell Angela? Henry? What about Randall’s parents?
As Hershel stepped into the final chamber, he saw the glistening mound of gold and gems before him. Jewels that shone like stars. Perhaps the embodiment of a promise. Perhaps there would have been something worth celebrating over. Would have. But now it felt like it was mocking him. Spitting on him. Pulling on his hair and shoving his face right into the mud. Clawing him to shreds and pouring salt on the open wound while it laughed and bore its glittering teeth. Hershel’s face ran hot with hardly contained anguish. It felt like fire in his gut as he stared at the golden mountain of riches, void of any worth to the boy. As sentimental as a piece of burned paper. As hollow as old bone.
This? Is this it? Was this worth a human life?! Was it worth his life?!
That was it. It boiled over and wracked his body like a rag being wrung of its moisture. Hershel felt his legs buckle beneath him, the pain of the brick colliding with his knees not even comparable to the burning of anger. To the of grief. To the guilt. Hershel could only see Randall’s face when he closed his eyes. Cold. Calm. Accepting. His cheeks flared with heat. His nose began to sting. He felt the warm tears hit his fingers.
Your fault.