I am stretched on your grave (OOM 2)
Mark had intended to spend another pleasant day in the Milliways common room reading (or perhaps watching another movie. The sudden vacation was needed, and to come off of a kidnapping-
Off a terrible event-
An event he'd planned.
Bar had apparently intended to help him heal. His footsteps paused on the stairs and he realized point blank that for the first time he was thinking of himself in terms apart from John Kramer. For the first time in almost two years-
He stands on the edge of a great precipice and screams as the wind dies down and that little voice Careful Mark, is gone
He makes his way shakily to a table right when phase two decides to hit. There is a newspaper article on the table.
He reads it without a second thought. This is a sentient bar. A sentient bar that knows just what he is and who he is and apparently wants to help him-
The words Phase Two are scrawled across the top of the article but it's one he knows. It's dated (if his watch is correct. It's not working but it stopped at the correct date...)Three weeks after Angie died.
But that means that it's three weeks prior which means the damn funeral home took too long arranging the service.
Which meant he had to wait for her high school classmates to fly in.
Which meant that her ex husband had to come, toting his wife from the midwest and two children who watched with serious gazes (It was a nice sentiment given that he'd dumped her-never mind he hadn't let them near the grave site.)
It was organizing flowers.
Claps on the back and serious glances.
Eric Matthews (Eric Matthews!)
On the article Eric is standing beside him with his head bowed, the temporary victor before his own inner demons brought him to the graveyard of good and decent cops- fucking hell.
Eric Matthews. Flowers.
He tosses the article aside. how could he have forgotten.
His drinking sabbatical was far behind schedule. He usually started a week ahead of time, his coworkers giving him enough space to let him be. Even John and Amanda had backed off (until she bought it, and there was sweet-if only he'd been able to see her gasping for breath until her lungs turned black with blood)
This week. This day.
This Day
The Day his sister died.
-------------------
the priests and the friars
approach me in dread
because I still love you
my love and you're dead
I still would be your shelter
through rain and through storm
He is six He has her in his arms watching as father ends and mother lies slack against the wall sobbing. The Hoffman children are removed the next day by a fat lady who smells like dish soap and sent to the ends of the earth until he screams that the day they take Angie from him is the day he kills them all-
He is fifteen She is doing her homework and talking to someone on the phone. He's already decided on his career and is appropriately reading a book on famous lawmen (he's particularly engrossed by Wyatt Earp's career) when she announces "And I'm in love"
"Relax Mark, I'm talking about Mrs. Henderson's dog. Yeah I know Carly. Brothers.."
He is twenty eight and she is hugging him tightly.
"My brother. My hero."
My HeRo iS dEaD.
That voice. That dry, dead, terrible voice-
DoN't ShUt mE oUt MaRk.
He is forty two She is thirty nine and in love, in love. "Relax Mark, it's Seth Baxter. He's a reformed convict."
He'S A SeRiAl kiLLeR.
He screams openly, angrily-the rat outside the hall doing it's business looks sharply at the door.
Jesus God-
He spends the rest of the day curled in a fetal position. "Your hero is dead. angie. Angie I'm so sorry..."
And somewhere someone smiles.
Off a terrible event-
An event he'd planned.
Bar had apparently intended to help him heal. His footsteps paused on the stairs and he realized point blank that for the first time he was thinking of himself in terms apart from John Kramer. For the first time in almost two years-
He stands on the edge of a great precipice and screams as the wind dies down and that little voice Careful Mark, is gone
He makes his way shakily to a table right when phase two decides to hit. There is a newspaper article on the table.
He reads it without a second thought. This is a sentient bar. A sentient bar that knows just what he is and who he is and apparently wants to help him-
The words Phase Two are scrawled across the top of the article but it's one he knows. It's dated (if his watch is correct. It's not working but it stopped at the correct date...)Three weeks after Angie died.
But that means that it's three weeks prior which means the damn funeral home took too long arranging the service.
Which meant he had to wait for her high school classmates to fly in.
Which meant that her ex husband had to come, toting his wife from the midwest and two children who watched with serious gazes (It was a nice sentiment given that he'd dumped her-never mind he hadn't let them near the grave site.)
It was organizing flowers.
Claps on the back and serious glances.
Eric Matthews (Eric Matthews!)
On the article Eric is standing beside him with his head bowed, the temporary victor before his own inner demons brought him to the graveyard of good and decent cops- fucking hell.
Eric Matthews. Flowers.
He tosses the article aside. how could he have forgotten.
His drinking sabbatical was far behind schedule. He usually started a week ahead of time, his coworkers giving him enough space to let him be. Even John and Amanda had backed off (until she bought it, and there was sweet-if only he'd been able to see her gasping for breath until her lungs turned black with blood)
This week. This day.
This Day
The Day his sister died.
-------------------
the priests and the friars
approach me in dread
because I still love you
my love and you're dead
I still would be your shelter
through rain and through storm
He is six He has her in his arms watching as father ends and mother lies slack against the wall sobbing. The Hoffman children are removed the next day by a fat lady who smells like dish soap and sent to the ends of the earth until he screams that the day they take Angie from him is the day he kills them all-
He is fifteen She is doing her homework and talking to someone on the phone. He's already decided on his career and is appropriately reading a book on famous lawmen (he's particularly engrossed by Wyatt Earp's career) when she announces "And I'm in love"
"Relax Mark, I'm talking about Mrs. Henderson's dog. Yeah I know Carly. Brothers.."
He is twenty eight and she is hugging him tightly.
"My brother. My hero."
My HeRo iS dEaD.
That voice. That dry, dead, terrible voice-
DoN't ShUt mE oUt MaRk.
He is forty two She is thirty nine and in love, in love. "Relax Mark, it's Seth Baxter. He's a reformed convict."
He'S A SeRiAl kiLLeR.
He screams openly, angrily-the rat outside the hall doing it's business looks sharply at the door.
Jesus God-
He spends the rest of the day curled in a fetal position. "Your hero is dead. angie. Angie I'm so sorry..."
And somewhere someone smiles.