Chapter Text
She opened a door.
Outside, the lighting split from dark clouds, and the air smelled like the usual wet grass. It was dark, as it always had been; the land soaked up the tears and screams of agony all the same. Wuthering Heights, the name echoed through my skull as thunder boomed. Wuthering Heights, the world I thought I left behind. The world I left Catherine in.
“Heathcliff.” Her voice urges me as softly as I remember. I don’t meet her eyes. But I know what she meant. To leave the room of white walls, to enter into reality once more. To fix the things I have wrecked. To move on. Without Catherine. Catherine, who healed my tender wounds, is the light in this inferno of darkness. The only person that I would throw myself into a cycle of never-ending torture and murder for. Yet the calm ticking outside the furious storm reminds me. Our eyes meet; her light brown eyes are tinged with sadness, yet she still smiles, full of warmth. Because it’s a promise. That we’ll reunite.
After all, Catherine’s heart was one of the things I broke.
"Is he– Is he seriously asleep?” A familiar pained sigh. Ignored.
“Hellooooo?” A poke. A light slap on the cheek.
“Alright… you asked for this.”
My eyes tore open as my body capsized off the seat cushion. Pain welcomes my head as it lands face-first with a dull thud.
“Bloody hell!” words with an edge of annoyance escape me first, a rush of heat to my cheeks second. I lift my head off the floor, only to see my livid reflection on the sole of someone’s black shoes, tapping impatiently. “You’ll pay for that–” My nose presses back onto the floor from a careless strike on the back of the head.
“Not today, can’t have your hands on me,” she sighs again. “Just stay on the floor for me.” The veins on my head pulse with resentment. By the time her knees touch the floor, my eyes spot a glimpse of her ginger hair, and my anger bursts.
“Now, Heathcliff, listen here– Whoa, wait!” My body lunges over the floor in a blur, causing her to lose balance. Following the momentum, I snatch my bat that was hoisted against the seat and lift it above my head. But I don’t follow through.
“What’s your problem, huh, lass?” My teeth grind against each other dangerously.
“Oho! So you’re mad? Here I thought that you were more agreeable lately,” Ishmael’s face scrunches up. “Can’t talk with idiot, I guess,” she adds with poison.
“Have ‘ya lost your mind? You knocked me to the floor while I was sleeping!” The bat grows heavier with each second I spend looking at her face… full of makeup.
“At least you slept!”
“What – bloody–”
“You and your nonsensical mumblings! Did you forget?” She’s on her feet now, patting down her black dress. The bat falls to my side, the grip still hard on the handle. The other sinners watch from the other side of the bus, some of them chuckling to themselves, rolling their eyes, or simply not interested in our daily antics. Now that I realise, everyone is either in a dress or a suit. Ishmael is shaking her head, the tapping getting louder.
“You forgot, didn’t you? You big oaf.” A third sigh from her and a rough inhale from me to avoid bashing my bat through her skull.
“What?”
“Our company party! For a successful job at stopping the House of Spiders.” When my confused silence lasts for too long, she adds, “Dante explained this to us not too long ago and told us that we had to get ready– Weren’t you listening? I swear you were awake!”
“Uhhh…”
“Idiot!” Ishmael throws up her arms before dropping them to point. “But don’t think that’s why I’m angry at you.”
“That’s okay, Heathcliff. I sometimes zone out too,” Rodion interrupts, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder.
“...That’s because you’re always running off somewhere to stuff your pockets with food,” Sinclair chirps from behind the seat next to them, sitting the furthest away from the scene that Ishmael caused.
“I thought no one noticed,” she frowns, turning her head towards Ishmael.
“Ishy, give the poor guy a break~ I haven’t seen him sleep this well in a while.”
“Well, he shouldn’t be sleeping anyway because he needs to get ready. Even if he could be, he should be in his room and not lying here like some sad sack of potatoes,” she scoffs, crossing her arms.
“Huh~ That’s odd because I saw you sleeping here.”
Ishmael closes and opens her mouth around three times before clearing her throat. “No idea what you’re talking about.”
“I think I saw you over there,” Sinclair adds.
“Weird, because I wasn’t.”
“You were snoring.” his lips curve slightly, driving the final nail in the coffin, causing her to zip her lips completely. My grip loosened around the bat.
Two ticks of silence leave floating in the air before Rodion turns to me. “Heathcliff~ Since you’re in a pickle, Hong Lu and I could do your hair like in that mansion. Or~ You could use that fancy uniform that you–”
My eyelids fly. My mouth opens to speak, but nothing comes out. I take a step backwards, but my legs give out. My hand gripped the seat behind me for support. Her delicate laugh, the way her gold silk hair flowed against the wind and her soft, soft hand caressing my head; memories flash by like flickering through worn photographs.
“...Return to the manor where it all began…
I’ll be waiting for you, Heathcliff
– Catherine Earnshaw”
“Are you okay?” Rodya asks, her voice etched with concern.
“I’m…I’m fine,” was a reply, running my fingers through my hair. The same hair that was donned in layers of hairspray. That same hand had traced the outline of my suit, a rather luxurious one that Dante gave me; I had looked like a wealthy man. A snarky grin came of it, all the thoughts of what Catherine would say when she saw me like this – if she did. A courageous strut to the manor’s gates, flexing the blazer soaked in the rain. No longer a dog in rags and scars, but someone respectable, someone worthy of marrying Catherine – it was all I could think of.
“...I love you just the way you are.”
That happiness was short, just like her lifespan.
The news of the funeral.
The Wild Hunt.
The golden bough pierces my heart.
Her heartbroken wails were swallowed within the cold patter of rain.
These memories ring sharp in my head. Etched onto my very bat to “Remember.” Can’t say the same for everyone else. The panicked ticking brings me back to my senses. The ticking grows louder as the bus fades back into focus; all the sinners surround me, whispers floating amongst them.
“Heathcliff is doing T.T again.” A cloud of smoke emerges from Ryoshu's side with the quick “That thing” from Sinclair’s. Faust drives a finger into my shoulder, causing me to yelp.
"Reaction speed has returned to normal." Then, her lifeless expression shifts to Dante, their hand movements zipping between concern, possibly sign language and some other unrecognisable gestures.
<Ahh! Heathcliff zoned out! Did you have nightmares again? Wait – what about the party? He’s still not ready – uhhh, Vergillius probably will get mad at me…>
“Clockh– Manager, I’m alright,” I say before being interrupted.
“Dante, Faust recommends that Heathcliff attend the event, in contrast to his unwell appearance. After all, we already look unprofessional with only… twelve sinners.” What followed was a long, uncomfortable silence after Faust’s words. From afar, Rodion tenses up, her smile now stained.
The images come to me.
The ticklish sensation of thousands of cockroaches crawling up my arm.
The smell of a rotting corpse fills my lungs as I swing my bat against his body.
His endless, warped pleas to kill him reverberate through my head. The final blow to his skull.
Bat and axe.
The sound of scattered tiny footsteps,
A withered grunt as the bugs escape from his body.
Gregor, on the floor.
Still twitching.
And yet again, someone who was close to me turns into something unfamiliar. This time, I was there.
My stomach lurches. Before I could spill my guts onto the floor, Rodion interjected. “Heyyy~ There’s no time to waste, right, haha? On your feet, Heathcliff, we've got to get you ready.”
Dante startles, <R-right…Heathcliff, go with her. Bring Hong Lu with you.>
And without a word, I follow. From a distance, I catch a glance at Ishmael. Her usual scowl had been replaced by something I can’t place. I pretend not to notice.