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Entry tags:
✘ lost in the flames
- Day I. September 26th
- Narrow Escape: The Shiver [Narrative]
- It's Such A Gray Day | Henry Townshend
- Day II. September 27th
- Monster Hospital | Anne Cunningham's Otherworld
- The Defiled [Narrative]
- Day III. September 28th
- Children Shouldn't Play with Dead Things | Alex Shepherd's Otherworld
- Home Again, Home Again, Jiggity Jig [Narrative]
- Day IV. September 29th
- Full Circle [Narrative]
- Folosom Prison Blues {The Penitentiary} | Irene Adler
- Day V. September 30th
- Mirror, Mirror | Annie Cresta
- Roadkill {The Church} | Nepeta Leijon
- Day VI. October 1st
- The Devil You Know [Narrative]
- The Repeater I. | Nepeta Leijon {Nowhere}
- The Repeater II. | OTA {Nowhere}
- The Repeater I. | Nepeta Leijon {Nowhere}
- Day VII. October 2nd
- The Repeater III. {Nowhere} | Anne Cunningham
- Fin
- Breathing Water [Narrative]
- Flooded Area | Alex Shepherd
October 1st | The Devil You Know
WHEN YOU'RE LOOKING AT THE DEAD AND THE DEAD ARE LOOKING RIGHT BACK AT YOU,
THEN DREAMS, FANTASIES... WHAT'S THE POINT?
YOU'RE ALREADY LIVING A NIGHTMARE.
{Like A Lamb To Its Slaughter | Part I.}
When or how he even got here... This is something that Murphy can't bring himself to speculate anymore. He should be with Nepeta, but for some reason, he isn't.
Here, she's nowhere to be seen. Seriously. Again and again, he has tried calling for her, and it's like being punched in the stomach. She's just a kid, and this place isn't safe. Not for anybody. If something happens to her after promising to himself that he'd never have to watch another get hurt...
To Murphy's disappointment, a wrecked boat on the lakeside doesn't really promise an easier way out. He follows the shore, however, in hopes that maybe it will lead him somewhere helpful. Eventually, he does find something, though it's hardly what he's hoping for.
Out there in the waters, something floats. A sharp, incredulous, nonsensical sound escapes Murphy's throat, as he stumbles, knee-deep into the lake. It's freezing to the bones; he doesn't care. This time, there are no police officers to hold him back. No irrational stupidity keeping him from dashing into the cold that covers him. It crashes over him like a tidal wave. Stealing his breath. He tries to call out to the floating thing, say words that have meaning, but meaning is lost.
At first, it's difficult to say what it is. It looks like a black bag, drifting down the lake. Murphy doesn't waste more time, though he really shouldn't be out this far without a boat. Not during this time of year (and he wonders why the concern even crosses his mind). He just acts, reaching out for the bag; grabs it, and--
Something stabs in his chest. His blood runs cold; colder than the icy waters. Colder than anything Murphy Pendleton had ever felt in his entire life.
"Oh God..." Water spurts from his mouth. Murphy spits, trying to keep his head above surface as he grips the bag. It's become a lifeline now. His legs kick, propelling him back towards the shallow shore. Once his feet can touch the earth again, he turns completely, taking the bag in both hands and -- strange, it seems so much heavier now. "Oh God, oh God... oh God..."
He's shivering and tells himself that it's just the cold. It's more than the cold. This is a bag, wrapped up tight and secured by a rope on top. He wills his hands to stay still only long enough for him to unravel it.
God, no... don't do this to me again. Don't--!
"Why are you doing this...?"
Submerged halfway into the lake, face floating in the bag -- was his son.
{Meet Me Down The River Road | Part II.}
Water drains the blood away, but there is still plenty of it splotched and stained all over.
Not this... not here... not again--
His hands tremble. His gut wrenches like he's going to puke any minute. Doesn't help that his stomach is empty; it feels like he hasn't eaten in years. Even when he shuts his eyes, the rotting face of his son remains marked on the back of his lids. The way Charlie's glossed-over stare continues to linger there, holes buried in his head, mouth hung open and tongue swollen and oh God, he must have been down there for days before they fished him out of the lake...
A father trembles, hoping that he could wash it all away, and it never does. The sound of running water and approaching footsteps shake him from his current state.
No, please. Don't do this to me.
The first thing he sees, clutched in his trembling hand, is a bloody shiv. Sharpened to perfection, and recently used.
His vision blurs. Behind his perspective of the blade, is a mutilated face. A greatly respected man who's so badly beaten and marred that he can hardly be recognized anymore.
Murphy feels weak. Every bit of him does. He drops to the wet floor, soaking through his prison jumpsuit. The stench of death extends beyond Frank, though.
Lying next to the corrections officer is another body. This one is more difficult to recognize, but it's a woman. Flat on her back, limp and lifeless... bones crushed and head caved in.
There is one thing, though. One little detail that stabs Murphy in the eye, and it shakes and terrorizes him when he can recognize, mixed with blood and brain and skull, the familiar shade of auburn hair--
{Hotter Than Hell | Part III.}
what
"Assembled here to witness the state's execution of Murphy Pendleton--"
no wait stop
He tries to move his arm then, but he can't. He's been strapped down to a gurney.
"--sentenced for the murder of his six-year-old son..."
this isn't right at all
He winces under the puncture of the sharp cannula in his arms.
"The couple had divorced four years earlier, and prosecutors believe Pendleton drowned his son, Charlie, in retaliation for his ex-wife seeking sole custody."
No, this is wrong. This is fucking death row--
STOP this isn't how it's supposed to be i didn't i wouldn't i'd never JUST LISTEN TO ME FOR GOD'S SAKE
A door opens behind him. Struggling to move his head, Murphy looks over the gurney to see a tray out the corner of his eye. There's medical equipment, an IV stand, tools, and paperwork with his name on them.
Shadow men appear from the door then. Though the voice he's been hearing echoes from somewhere else. Murphy doesn't have to move much to figure it out, when one of the shadow men approach the side of the gurney. The mechanical whir sends him momentarily upright, pinned completely to the cold mat against his back.
Overlooking the windows beyond the execution room, more shadow men have gathered. In the corner, a dark-haired woman in a veil sits among them. Her eyes are closed. Black ink pours down her cheeks.
Carol.
A shadow man behind her leans towards her, placing a hand over her shoulder. When she lifts her head, she sees Murphy -- and through the glass, he sees her. Eyes erased, and slash marks disfigure her face.
The shadow man in the front row seat continues: "More recently, Pendleton was tried and convicted for the murder of decorated officer, Frank Coleridge during a Ryall State Prison riot, which expedited Pendleton's execution sentence amidst public furor."
no no no no NO I DIDN'T
Carol looks to Murphy with a cut-throat smile. Then, so do all of the shadow people.
Any last words, Pendleton?
He thinks he's going to vomit for real this time. He just might. Wouldn't that be so horrible? Choking to death before they can even kill him. At least that's on his own volition, wouldn't it?
The gurney drops back with a crash. Not very pleasant at all. Murphy gasps for air, winded.
Cop killers don't last very long.
But he isn't...
A buzzing sound grows louder. Like a hive of bees, it hums and beats and becomes deafening in his ears and his head might, just might explode.
All it takes is the flip of a switch, and he can hear the sound of the machines pumping into him. One by one... he feels tired, torn and weary. He can't even bother to breathe anymore, only slam his head against the gurney and stifle an inexplicable muffle of disbelief. He fights it at first. Thrash against the straps that hold him down as he yells.
The shadow men hover over him with their black faces and visible smiles. He remembers Carol's twisted face. Charlie's rotting body. Frank's withered form and Anne's crushed corpse. He remembers these things, and suddenly, the struggle doesn't even seem to be worth it anymore. It's just not worth it.
Maybe it's the alleged pentobarbital, or maybe it's his conscience. Maybe it's something else entirely that's making its way inside. Either way, he begins to feel weak, unable to fight this thing that's been gnawing at him for so long...
He coughs. He coughs and chokes and blood builds up in his throat. His eyes hurt so bad he feels them start to burst out of his sockets. With that, he convulses.
The heart monitor on display nearby starts beating again. This time in rapid succession. He feels hot, dizzy, blood boiling and brain coursing through the motions of several flashing images pouring from his mind's eye.
...See? I knew you'd come around, in the end.