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Lewis didn't know what to do.
He'd almost died. Almost met the same fate as his best friend. Somehow he'd managed to escape.
What had he said to Eden?
"Look, I know that you want revenge, but killing me isn't going to make that happen." Lewis's mind was going at a thousand miles per hour, but somehow it seemed to be stuck. He was trying to think of something to say. Trying to ignore the fear pounding in his heart, the frozen ground under his knees. Is this what Thomas felt? he'd wondered.
"Really? Seems like it will to me." Eden cocked the gun. Despite the rage in her voice, her hands were steady.
"Christian was right when he said he wasn't the one holding the gun," Lewis said, "but that's because I had him hold the phone."
"What do you mean?"
"He was recording."
Eden's face paled, but her grip on the gun only tightened. Lewis flinched, already preparing for the bullet through his skull. "You recorded it?" Eden's voice was shrill.
"Not because we wanted to! Because we were made to! Someone blackmailed us into killing Thomas!" Lewis cried.
There was silence. The only sounds to be heard now were natural. The rushing river behind him. The wind shaking the branches of the nearby trees. The sleet falling on him and Eden.
"Blackmail?"
"Yes. You have my phone. The passcode is eight-seven-zero-nine. It's the contact labeled "Funny Guy"."
Eden pulled out Lewis's phone, put in the passcode, and navigated to his contacts. She glanced up every few seconds, keeping her eyes on Lewis in case he tried to do anything. She scrolled for a while, looking through the texts. Finally, she pocketed the phone again. "You're not lying." Her voice broke.
"No, I'm not. Someone made us do it. Christian and I never wanted to kill Tom. Killing me isn't going to punish the actual perpetrator."
Eden still seemed unsure. She had Lewis's phone. She could shoot him, throw his body in the river, and then try to figure out who the blackmailer was on her own. Or, she could let Lewis live and try to go after the blackmailer with a little less to go on. Lewis knew he needed to do something, because he wasn't sure what option Eden would choose.
"What if I helped you?"
Eden stiffened. "What?"
"What if you and I teamed up to figure out who did this? And, afterwards, I'll turn myself in. For everything. That way Thomas gets justice and you get revenge, right?"
Eden seemed to consider this. Then, slowly, she lowered the gun. "If I agree to this, and you betray me, understand that I will not hesitate to take you down with me. Got it?"
Lewis nodded. "Of course. I wouldn't expect anything less from you."
That was about where the exchange ended. Both of them were cold and tired, so they'd agreed to meet up tomorrow at Eden's house to talk.
Lewis had gone home. He'd snuck back into his house, taken a long, skin-scalding shower, and was currently in his bedroom, pulling on a pajama shirt. Just trying to make sense of the night's events.
Then he caught sight of a familiar figure in the mirror on his closet door.
Lewis turned around slowly. Just what I don't need right now, he thought.
Thomas was sitting on Lewis's bed, glassy eyes staring at nothing in particular.
Well, not Thomas. Either some ghost of Thomas that had come back from the dead to torment Lewis, or some guilt-driven hallucination he'd been having for the past... what was it now? God, almost six months.
"I'm not in the mood, Tom," Lewis said. "Get off the bed and get the fuck out of my room."
Thomas tilted his head. Lewis tried to ignore the shiver running down his spine. On good days, Thomas only had glassy eyes and a bullet hole in his forehead that was often covered by his bangs. On worse days, kinda like today, he appeared to be sopping wet, nibbled at by fish, his lips sewn together with fishing line, and there were streaks of blood from the hole in his head, making it more obvious. It wasn't that bad yet, but it was still creepy to see the just-starting-to-decompose corpse of a boy sitting on your bed.
"I'm serious," Lewis snapped. "Fuck off."
It's funny, isn't it?
Thomas went quiet, waiting for Lewis to entertain his odd train of thought. It was something the ghost would do often; say something cryptic and wait for Lewis to ask about it before explaining. Lewis hated it every time, now more than ever, but if doing so would get Thomas to go away, he was all for it.
"What's funny?"
We sounded the same tonight. Begging for our lives.
Lewis laughed. "What are you talking about?" he asked. "We sounded nothing alike."
Really? Thomas moved off of the bed and knelt right between it and Lewis. Then, he folded his hands together, as if he were praying. Because, if I remember correctly, this is what I said.
H-Hey, careful with that. What th- ow! Okay, okay, I'm down, I'm down. My- my phone? Yeah, yeah, sure, take it. Here. There. You- wait. Wait, no. No, don't- stop. I-I don't want to die. Stop, please. I-I-I don't know what I did but, but please don- I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Don't kill me, please. I'm sorry. For whatever it is I did I'm sorry. Please, we can work this out. We can-
Lewis had to fight off the memories. That was exactly what Thomas had said. He hadn't understood what was happening. Why it was happening. Christian and Lewis hadn't either. They'd just been told what to do. They hid their faces with masks and the hoods of their sweatshirts. They used a gun Christian's dad owned. They didn't talk much, and when they did, they tried their best to distort their voices. Talking in a deeper or higher voice than normal.
When Thomas said that he didn't know what he did wrong, but that he was sorry, it wasn't just because he didn't want to die. He'd thought that he'd done something wrong. Something that angered two other people enough to want to kill him. He was apologizing and trying to think of a way to fix it. At first, all of it had been too much. Lewis hadn't pulled the trigger. But then he remembered why he was doing it and the apologizing became less of a hindrance and more of a reason to just get it over with. Just to put Thomas out of his misery.
If Lewis could go back, he would have taken that gun and found whoever the blackmailer was. Then he would've put a bullet in their brain instead of Thomas's.
"So?" Lewis asked the apparition in front of him. "That's what you said. Not what I said."
Hmm, not exactly, no. But it was pretty close. Thomas closed his eyes and began reciting what had been said only an hour or so before.
Hey, Eden. You wanted to- holy shit! What the hell are you- what? My... my phone? Why do you- okay! Okay! Here! Take it! You want me to what?! I- okay! Easy with that, please. I.... You know. Shit, fucking hell, I- Eden, wait, let me explain, okay? I'm sorry. No, shit, stop! Don't shoot! I-I, please, stop. I'm sorry. Don't kill me! I don't want to die. I'm sorry! Listen, I- we- this isn't right! This isn't the full story. Just give me a chance to- Stop!
Thomas opened his eyes. Then you made the deal with her to find the blackmailer.
Lewis stared at the thing in front of him as it got to its nonexistent feet. It wasn't an exact match. His begging for his life wasn't like Thomas's, but it was close. They'd apologized, they'd given over their phone, they'd been forced to kneel, they'd stuttered and stumbled over their words. Hell, even the setting was similar. Right by the river where Thomas was shot. That's where Eden had stopped him.
She'd probably thought it would be symbolic.
Thomas was talking again, beginning to pace.
I wonder if that's the same for everyone. When you beg for your life, you've got to sound desperate. Apologizing a lot. Offering some alternate solution. Except, my sister has reasoning and morals that you don't, apparently, so it worked with her.
"Get out."
But back to the begging part. I wonder if it's different if you're begging for someone else's life and not your own. Like, to save someone else from death, even if that means that you might die.
"I said get out."
I wonder if there was a part of Christian's brain that was begging him not to do it. Or if he'd fully come to accept that he was going to kill himself.
"GET THE FUCK OUT!" Lewis screamed.
There were two beats of silence. Lewis took deep, angry breaths. Thomas turned to face him. During the conversation, his appearance had shifted. He'd turned from a boy with glassy eyes, patches of chewed away skin, and a bullet hole in his head, to almost his full form. Fishing line crisscrossed half of his lips. Blood ran from the hidden hole in his forehead down to the bridge of his nose, where its track split and went down either side. His skin was almost entirely gone, leaving visible bloody spots and organs and muscles. Lewis took a step back. He hadn't realized how bad it had gotten.
The only difference between our begging was that I don't think I ever saw your face.
Then, Thomas disappeared.