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.
{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.