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There's a rapid knock at Katie’s door. It's still dark out, and all Michelle can think as she tries to move off the couch, as she tries to get to the wall, is that Katie’s house is damn dark in the winter like this. She stumbles over Katie’s large rug, and starts to grope for the light switch, phone dropped along the way. She'd been awake before the knocks, staring at the alert that had woken her up.
Hardly had any time to read what it’d said. And no time to look back on it, with the what was now pounding at the door. Who the fuck was out there this early? In the snow, too?
She squints. Or is the emergency alert more important? Maybe she shouldn't bother with turning the lights on at all, and pretend no one’s home. Hope it's not one of Katie’s weird exes trying to come in at the end of the night pounding at the doorway, as Katie’s got a few of them. The door creaks and she winces, glancing over as the pounds shake the whole house.
Back against the wall, she slumps to the ground again, staying out of the foyer. It's far too dark for anyone outside to see in, so she tries to find her phone quietly in the dark, patting down the floor as all of a sudden the pounding stops.
Michelle gives a glance to the alert.
Evacuations issues due to a gas leak in Raccoon City and some surrounding areas. Her town was there, listed for possible evacuation. Was Bryan-?
She shuts out the thought and clicks off the phone, staring at the front door in the dark.
It's still silent. Thank fuck, Michelle thinks. The person outside must be gone. So, slowly, she yawns and starts to stand, worried about tripping in the dark. Maybe she’ll call Katie, wherever she is out tonight. Or she could.. Her thoughts drift off as she trips over that same edge of rug she’d stumbled over earlier. “Shit!” She swears as she tumbles to the floor, head knocking the wooden table beside the sofa. Pain sears, and she reaches up a hand to her temple, feeling the bruise. It's more of a cut, really. Her fingers feel bloody. Damn. She doesn't realize how loud she was until she hears a thud at the door, and her breath catches. Shit. Her eyes drop to the door and she stands in the dark, tentatively, as her forehead continues to bleed.
It seems too long that she stands there, listening to the person outside get louder. The knocks get more crazed. It feels like an ice bucket has been emptied down her back, and she finds she can't bring herself to move. Her feet won't budge, her legs won't work. She needs to move. Call someone, or even just go to the door. Michelle isn't a child. The person at the door probably just thinks Katie’s home or wants something or maybe even needs help after the heavy snow of last night – which, was only so many hours ago. But they sound goddamn crazy, as if some horror movie villain is trying to get in. She half expects an axe to break through the door with some deranged, actual version of ‘Here’s Johnny.’
The knocks lull again. The door handle jingles.
Finally, a warbling, best described as garbled voice speaks. A low whine, snaking through the door and into her ears and locking the ice of fear in her gut.
“Michelle.” It, because she doesn't think any person is capable of such a noise, says.
She screams.
“Michelle?” It echoes. This time it sounds strained. She should be moving, should be walking, should be running away. But she can't. She refuses to accept it, but the voice almost sounds familiar in the worst ways. She’d thought he had left. Crashed his car on the way to the next hospital, died. Never to come home.
Michelle had never expected this.
“.. Bryan?” She whispers. Her feet finally begin to move, terror still a vise over her body. She takes a small step closer to the foyer, staring at the door. Maybe if she could get a glimpse in the peephole it would prove it. But it's not. This thing couldn't possibly be Bryan.
The door creaks. The thudding stops. It's so silent, she almost thinks he’s gone. Then it storms open with such a force she starts to run, tripping in the dark as whatever it is just stands there, and maybe she could find a knife or she should call the police, should've done that already, but the thing in the dim light of that flickering ass porchlight is shining and she can almost make out a form. Still standing there. Body contorting up and down in ways that look like breathing, even as the silhouette is poor from the light and maybe it's her imagination fucking around, but whoever– whatever it is has too many limbs.
Then it collapses with this giant, living squelch into the porch and she starts to quietly, silently run to get a kitchen knife, or then maybe her phone or probably just her phone, would a knife even do jackshit on this creature – until it makes a sound so unmistakably– not really, she’s just delusional–so unmistakably Bryan she can't do anything but look.
For the final time, she promises herself, she turns. Her heart is pounding in her ears, and as she stares into the dark she feels regret swell. She should turn, has to move, but the dim porchlight flickers. And she was wrong. Because in the light she doesn't see a monster or too many limbs– that was all the odd shadow. She sees Bryan, brown hair and pale and covered in blood and snow and what must be rot and she stills.
“Oh, Michelle.” He cries, drawing the words out with a whine as he stumbles, too weak to be on his own feet now, and he crawls– drags himself closer towards her, all blood and snot and tears as he scrambles closer at an alarming rate, only to envelop her legs around his arms, in a tear-riddled embrace.
It takes a moment to process this, shock thudding through Michelle with the beat of her rapid heart. Her chest hurts, but she tries to smile in relief.
“Bryan,” Michelle instantly drops herself down to him, exhaling as she pulls into a squat as she reaches her own arms out, and he clings to her for dear life. His damp arms circle around her waist and she holds him tightly, shaking.
Her fingers snake into Bryan’s hair, furiously running through what she dimly knows is blood, if not from the way it sticks to her fingers or the iron smell that stenches him. He pushes his face into her shoulder, and she’s pushed to the ground entirely.
“I’m sorry,” He breathes, leaning heavily into her. His breath is warm and rancid, but she can't seem to mind. It's him. Bryan. Her Bryan, back, and that's so much better than anything else. “I.. I, uh, I was wrong. The baby.. it’s, if you want it, we can… we should, I mean I’d love to keep it.” The words are runny, breathless murmurs. She tries to focus on his voice as she runs a hand down to rub his back, gently, softly, the way you’d pet an injured, feral animal.
He takes in another long breath. Michelle coaxes it, takes it with him. In and out, baby.
“Would you..” He asks, trailing off. “Like to keep it? I.. god, all that time I was just– I never thought I’d be able to say..” Bryan’s body shudders. She holds him tighter as he heaves a sob into her cardigan, wet and salty and still slightly bloody, but better than the ceaseless cries from before.
“I would.” Michelle whispers. “Deep breaths, baby.” She hums, tender hands still massaging his back as his sobs lessen.
She never thought she’d see Bryan again. Some thing, some knife stabbing her in the side had been killing her since that night. Every thought, every feeling. He's not going to answer. He's not going to come home, he's never coming home.
But he had. Michelle could almost laugh in relief, but instead her eyes filled with tears, silently. She promises herself to try and not get Bryan’s hair any more damp, as she sits there with him.
They stay huddled there on the floor for a while. Katie’s still out, and the houses around them are dim or dark, glowing orange in the snow through the windows. Still dark.