Chapter Text
???
I wave the young fennec girl goodbye as the pull in the pit of my stomach drags me back into the void of semi-consciousness from the closet. One final goodbye to only one of the people who truly deserved it, and even so, not at the right time.
"So… Are you still with me?"
Samuel's voice is expectant; I can almost feel him tapping his nonexistent arm as I try to stop the threads of my consciousness from snapping any further. Not like it would help me answer his question, what with my vocal chords already having frayed and severed what feels like forever ago. Still, it's disconcerting how I can imagine my mind slowly dissipating into the abyss one unravelling thread at a time. Soon, it will be over. I pray for it to be over, and I'm not even relig—
…
There's a joke to be made somewhere. About someone. Someone I know is second nature to make fun of, at least for me. The past me.
But what…
Who…?
"Don't worry about the memories. You never forget anything truly important, anyway."
The memories?
Oh, fuck, the memories. I don't want to lose them. I worked so hard—so, so hard—to keep them. So that I could dig the truth out of the rubble of this godforsaken town.
The truth.
The truth…
The truth about… what?
Sydney.
The name hits me like a freight train, and my brain grasps onto it with a vice grip. I choke out a low, rumbling growl. Then another. And another. Muscle memory leads my mouth in a persistent ramble of all the things I swore I'd never forget, one after another until my lungs burn away—the sinuous remnants of my hands claw at them in a futile attempt to keep them there—and I'm left mute.
There it goes. The final piece of evidence to myself that I ever existed at all. I'm not real—not anymore—but it would've been nice to pretend for just a little while longer.
"Amen," Samuel grunts out, then a second time with more exhaustion than I've ever heard from him before. "Amen…"
Snap. Snap. Snap. Threads in the back of my mind. There has to be something more than this.
"Well, tell you what."
This can't be how it ends.
"Since you're already on the way out, why don't you choose your final stop?"
I perk up, swivelling around only to remember that he's not really behind me. Could… could I even change anything at this point? What would I want to see?
When would I even want to go to?
Closure.
The word hangs heavily in my mind. I could finally learn the truth that I was so close to learning earlier, before my vision went out on me. I could look Sydney in the eyes with my newfound vision-not-vision and finally learn who made our lives such a living hell for all these years.
…
But what would be the point of that now?
No, there's only one thing to do.
Samuel gives me a hum as I feel the tugging feeling return, and suddenly, I find myself in yet another closet, familiar sets of thin button-ups and dress pants hung up haphazardly on the rack I'm crouched under. A black and orange gila monster lies on the messy bed in the back corner of the room, staring vacantly at the ceiling during the peak of night. Over and over again, he picks up his phone, checks his messages, then puts it back down on the mattress beside him. He's wondering whether or not it'll be worth it to go meet with his childhood friends the next day, certainly. He doesn't know yet that he'll ruin everything in the coming days: his already fraying friendships, his own shitty life, and if my peek into Sydney's death just a little while ago was any indicator, Sydney's life as well.
The pulling feeling starts up again.
No. Not yet. I push open the closet door.
There has to be something more than this.
And I need him to see that too.
I lunge.
He lets out a high pitched shriek that's quickly cut off as I slam into his side, knocking him into the wall. I try to pin him against the blankets so I can—I don't really know—scream at him with my non-existent vocal chords? But he manages to slip away and scramble towards the gun that he always keeps in the hallway closet. I can already feel my form disintegrating, trying to pull itself back into the abyss, but I turn and, in agony, stalk over to him. When I reach him, he's just finished wrestling the repeater out from the top of the closet, and he turns just in time to meet my gaze as I wrap my hands around his neck and hold him down. He fires. I don't flinch. His hands come up to his neck, clawing to try and loosen my grip, only ending up digging bloody trenches in his own neck.
This bitch ruined everything. He's the reason we never broke free from Echo. If he'd just let go, if he'd never spoken up, if he—no, if I had just died, then—
I look down as his eyes start to spaz out from the oxygen deprivation.
The cops didn't let me see Sydney's body, but I wonder if it looked like this, eyes frozen in equal parts terror and empty.
And so my grip loosens.
And so I get yanked away again.
And so I lose yet another piece of my mind.
I'm coming home, Sydney.
—
I see a closet.
I see the fennec, a bit older now.
I hear yelling outside her room.
She waves to me.
I wave back.