Chapter Text
Cesar Torres never wanted to die.
Of course, he knew of Alternates, of the stories of shadow figures that drove you to your own demise, of video tapes played in school on what to do - but he never expected to need it. He never expected for it to happen to him.
-
Cesar yawned, legs hanging off of the bed he couldn’t seem to get up off of. His collar dug into his neck, bow tie falling half-undone.
Prom ended hours ago, yet he refused to get up and change. Cesar mused going and getting something to eat that wasn’t (probably spiked) punch and snack foods.
He raised his head from the comfort of his pillow, arms pushing him up to stand, the cuffs of his suit caught under his wrists.
It was a shame that Mark couldn’t co-
Crash.
Cesar’s head shot up, the sound of something akin to pots and pans falling to the ground echoing through the house.
If he hadn’t been awake enough before, he definitely was now.
“…Hello?”
Shit, he thought. That is such a horror movie thing to do.
Cesar clenched his fists, opening his mouth to speak words he hadn’t quite figured out yet, before another sound rang through the house.
Something screamed. Something screamed, deafeningly loud, in the voice of his mother.
Cesar blinked.
“Mom?”
His mother had left the day before on a business trip. Somewhere in Nebraska - too far away to be back so soon, especially with no notice.
Something was inside his house.
“Shit,” Cesar whispered, slapping a hand over his mouth, backing away from his door.
His legs hit his desk, forcing Cesar to his knees beside it, eyes fixed on the door.
Blindly, he grasped at the surface of it, His hands clutched onto a pair of scissors, the blades sharp and long from his mom’s sewing box that he’d never returned.
Okay, Cesar thought. Okay, what was the acronym?
First was to tell somebody, he remembered through his panic, from school. Well, no human except him was in the house, but the landline was across the room, uncomfortably close to the ajar door.
Cesar debated the risk for a second, clutching the scissors tighter as he made his decision.
Each footstep sounded infinitely louder than ever as he walked to the door, pushing it as close to shut as he could with one hand, the other reaching towards the phone.
Caesar’s first thought was to call the police, but he wasn’t sure if he trusted them. Too many accounts were coming out from the families of victims of no help for the man to rely on them.
The only other person that he could think of was Mark, but could he risk involving his best friend in his current situation? Mark’s dad hunted all the time, so he’d definitely have access to a gun, but he’d have to be involved to even try and help.
The hushed movement of metal downstairs solidified Cesar’s choice, the dial twisting hastily.
Ring, ring. Ring-
“Hello?”
Cesar practically gasped in relief, glancing at the door. “Mark! Oh my god-“
“Cesar? Are you okay?”
“Mark, I’m so sorry, but I need help-“
Another crash downstairs.
“Woah, what’s going on?” Mark’s voice sounded serious, a tone that didn’t suit him.
“Mark, you have to trust me-“ Cesar lowered his voice, words speeding up in panic. “I think- I think there’s an Alternate, in my house- I wouldn’t involve you if I had another option-“
Footsteps. Footsteps on the stairs.
“Cesar-“
“Bring a gun, just hurry-“
Cesar dropped the phone, as something knocked on his door, the sound hollow.
Mark’s voice still sounded tinnily from the floor in the background. “Shit, Cesar, I’m on my way- stay safe.”
The line went dead.
Fuck, what was next? Cesar’s breaths came in short gasps, stumbling backwards into the wall.
Hinder the Alternate, he remembered. The metal blade was beginning to dig into his palm.
“What do you want?” Cesar shouted, dropping any semblance of secrecy. He knew the thing was on the other side of the door, so what good was there in pretending it didn’t know where he was?
All he could do was distract it, and pray Mark would get there in time to shoot it in the back.
“Hello? What do you want?”
“Cesar Torres.”
The Alternate’s voice was nothing like he imagined. It sounded like multiple voices layered, grating and melodic at the same time. It was all around Cesar, and in his head equally. It was beautiful and horrifying.
“I know what you want. I know what you fear.”
Cesar dropped the idea of hindering it, paralysed in terror.
Identify the class type.
“There is no hope in fighting, Cesar.” The Alternate had an almost victorious lilt to its voice, scraping against the wood of the door. “You can give up. You can let us in.”
Cesar couldn’t breathe. His fingertips clutched the wallpaper until they were white as the eyes that bore into his brain, his legs giving out until he curled up against the wall, hands tangled in his hair.
Neutralise the threat.
“You- you don’t know me.” Cesar gasped, forcing his eyes shut against his knees.
“Oh, but I do, my poor naive child. I know you better than you know yourself.”
What did the K stand for? Cesar asked himself, trying to focus on anything but the Alternate’s voice surrounding him.
Know your p-
Kill yourself.
The alternate almost sounded sympathetic in the most twisted, mocking way Cesar had ever heard. “There isn’t enough room for the both of us, is there? You know what you must do, my child.”
“No- I have a life, I have a family-“ Cesar stared, wide-eyed at the scissors in his hand. All he could hear in between the Alternate’s words was static. “My mom-“
Cesar watched as his own arm reached up, the point of the scissors aimed at himself of its own accord.
“Do what you must do, my child.”
—
“Shit, Cesar, I’m on my way- stay safe.”
Mark practically threw the receiver at the stand, rushing downstairs without a second thought of the food cooling on his desk or the pen dripping ink onto the floor.
The panic in his best friend’s voice was the only reason he wasn’t scolding Cesar for such a far-fetched attempt at a joke, a morbid idea of a prank.
He’d never heard the man so genuinely terrified before, and he knew Cesar’s mom hated having guns in the house.
Mark, on the other hand…
Swallowing back the fear rising in his throat, he reached into the closet by the stairs, digging through some old blankets until he found his prize - the old bolt-action rifle his father used to take him hunting with.
The weight was familiar, cool wood underneath Mark’s clammy hands.
“Hold on, Cesar.”
-
Mark couldn’t believe he wasn’t stopped for speeding on the drive to the other man’s house. On a regular day, it would take maybe ten minutes.
On this particular night, it took four minutes flat for Mark’s car to pull onto the gravel of Cesar’s driveway.
The first thing he noticed, climbing out of the car, gun in hand, was that the front door was open - but at least he wouldn’t have to add breaking and entering onto his record that night.
Mark ran inside, climbing the steps upstairs three at a time. “Ces? Cesar?!”
His best friend’s door was barely closed, only a shred of light shining onto the silent room. As far as he could tell, no Alternate was in sight, but Mark fixed his finger on the trigger anyway. “Cesar? Come on dude-“
Pushing the door open with his free hand, the first thing Mark noticed was the blood.
It trailed from the far wall, over towards the bed in varying stages of drying. The red stains seeped into the carpet in some sort of breadcrumb trail.
A trail, leading right over to where Cesar laid, still in his, albeit bloodied and ruined, dress shirt, against the bed.
The suit jacket laid, punctured and torn, in a heap discarded beside his limp figure.
“Shit, Cesar!” Mark dropped the gun beside him, kneeling to be level with the other.
Cesar’s eyes were shut, his head tilted towards the heavens. His hair was ruffled, a bloody handprint smeared by his left eye.
One of his hands was resting over the other wrist, a pair of scissors thrown to the floor beside.
Mark gagged, balling a fist to his mouth. Cesar’s arm was a bloody mess, dripping blood steadily onto the floor from a ginormous gash along it, poorly tourniqueted by his tie
“Oh my god, Ces!” Panicking, he brought two fingers to Cesar’s neck to check for a pulse. The one he found was weak, but still there.
The other man stirred at the touch, his face contorting in pain. “…Mark?”
Mark shot to his feet, grabbing the phone receiver and dialing three numbers. “I need an ambulance, now, to- Oh god, what’s the house number?!“
“42,” Cesar rasped, opening his eyes a sliver. “She- Sheffield Road.”’
Mark repeated the number, shoving the receiver back and falling back to his knees beside Cesar. “Dude, what the hell?”
“It heard me, Mark.” Each word sounded strained, but his grip on the wound tightened. “It- It’ll hear you too.”
“What do you mean? Ces?!”
Mark clung back onto the gun, wary of the looming threat and the dying man in front of him. “Come on, you can’t die on me now.”
“He will not die.”
Mark froze, stiffening at the voice as Cesar unconsciously turned his head away.
“He will simply improve.”
“Who are you?” The door creaked open on its hinges.
“You. Your fear, Your God. I am everything you want, and everything you need.”
Mark closed his eyes, twisting his body to where he knew the Alternate stood, and squeezed the trigger.
Bang.
“You think bullets will work on me? You cannot even bear to look at me, Mark Heathcliff. Look at me.”
Bang.
The Alternate made a sound something similar to a laugh, sounding closer than ever.
Bang.
Cesar moved beside him, his uninjured arm covering his ears messily.
“You don’t scare me!” Mark shouted, forcing his eyes open.
In front of him was an infinite shadow, its eyes holding the force of the sun as it glared down at him. Its uncanny, spindly figure loomed over him, an unstoppable force focusing its fury on Mark alone.
It was formless, but still the most terrifying thing Mark had ever seen. The knowledge that this was the creature that caused Cesar’s current state brought bile to his throat. Mark steeled his nerves.
“Of course you fear me-“
Bang.
The round fired into the white dots of its eyes, passing through and leaving stark indents on Cesar’s wall behind it, as if Mark had shot at a ghost.
The Alternate seemed to melt back into the shadows of the room, screeching animalistically as it fell. Along with it went the buzzing in Mark’s head, and the bloodstained hand over Cesar’s face. Sirens wailed in the distance.
“Come on, Cesar, I just shot a fucking demon for you. You don’t get to die on me now.”