mission report for clipsie (part 6 of 7)
Back to Part Five
He directed the flashlight into the room as the door closed behind him. It was empty. The same room he'd been standing in less than a week ago. Four blank walls. Boarded up window. Oddly-shaped stain etched into the concrete floor. He stepped into the middle of the room hesitantly, tentatively, shoes noiseless and skin cold.
He turned off the light.
Blanketing himself in darkness.
It was strange. No longer confining as it had been in the hallway. No longer seeping into his lungs, wrapping around his chest, coating his breath.
He let out a soft sigh, low and deep, eyes closed before reopening slowly, widening to peer through the shadows. It was quiet. Deathly quiet. He couldn't even hear his companions outside the door. Nor the trees scratching against the outer walls. Nor the building creaking and moaning around him.
It was as if he'd left the dorm completely.
He'd gone somewhere else.
Another world.
He knelt down slowly in the middle of the room, concrete hard against his knees, and cold, chill creeping across the threshold of fabric to spread like ice crystals up his thighs and down his calves. The air hung still, trapped, and for a moment he wondered if there was air at all. But then he took a breath and the oxygen bubbled and frothed in his lungs.
Nothing. Nowhere. No one.
No no no.
He was nobody.
He placed his hands on his thighs, fingers sliding along the denim as a weight pressed down on his shoulders from above, holding him in place.
Something was dripping.
He could hear it.
Far off.
As if down a long tunnel.
A whisper.
Right in his ear.
He twisted around, behind him, eyes twisting this way and that in the darkness, but meeting no one. His heart beat up in his throat, making it hard to swallow, hard to breathe. He opened his mouth and let out air he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
Again.
The other side.
He could feel it, the hairs on the back of his neck twitching as the air brushed past his skin. He didn't turn right away this time, instead staring straight ahead at the wall, waiting.
The presence didn't disappear. It stayed. The sound of breathing more pronounced in his ear, warm on his neck.
Look at you sitting there like you own the place.
Then from behind him.
Who do you think you are?
His fingers curled tighter into his thighs, eyes watering as his nails bit into his skin. When he finally turned his head, searching for the voice, he felt the presence shift, dancing through the air to where he'd just been facing.
What are you doing, Taichi? Crybaby. Scaredy-cat. Why are you shaking, Taichi?"
Taichi didn't even realize he'd been shaking, his nerves disconnected from his brain and twitching, trembling, lips quaking as he breathed in and out.
The voice turned sickly sweet, right in here ear.
Here comes a candle to light you to bed...
He twisted around.
But now the voice was in the other ear.
Here comes the chopper to chop off your head...
His heart accelerated in his chest as a giggle swirled up his spine, nowhere and everywhere, ringing in his ears.
Chip, chop. Chip, chop.
It was right in front of him now.
The last man's dead.
Something pushed him. A dull, heavy weight on his chest that built like a firecracker under his skin. He went sprawling back on his rear, hitting his head on the floor with a sharp crack as his eyes swiveled up in his skull.
"I'll leave you in charge of the outer rings. Three, remember? Leave about an inch between each one."
Edmund handed a bottle of white spray paint over to Sakamoto, whose fingers shook as he took it, wrapping around the cylinder before tightening into a firm grip. He nodded his head.
The reverend took a hammer from his duffel, nail in his mouth as he directed a long piece of string towards the open patch of hallway just outside room 413. Measuring distances with his eyes, he moved the nail to the ground, giving it a few whacks with the hammer to send it through both the string and carpeting, embedding it neatly into the floorboards. He tossed the end of the string to Sakamoto, who promptly stretched it out to its full length and tied it around the can.
A circle.
Inside a circle.
Inside a circle.
He bit down on his tongue, a drop of sweat forming just above his temple to glide down his cheek as he positioned himself at the end of the string and began spraying a large white ring around the expanse of the hallway. Carefully. Slowly. His heart urged him faster as the dread roiled and twisted in his stomach, but he kept himself calm and his hand steady, forcing a slow, thorough pace. Once he'd successfully made it around the first circle, he retied the paint can further up the string to prepare for the next.
Edmund was crouched towards the middle, lips moving in silent chant and a vein visible on his forehead. He had a paintbrush as opposed to Sakamoto's can, his hand swift but graceful as shapes began to take form on the carpet's surface. A diamond. A star. Four stars, each with six points. Sakamoto could remember the picture in his head, just as the reverend had shown him in the dusty tome back in his office. In each of the triangles was a letter, a fluid stroke of the brush forming their shapes with ease, even atop the uneven surface of the carpet.
Sakamoto wiped at the sweat in his eyes, wondering when it had grown so warm. Even as he started on his third circle, his ears strained to hear, listening for a sound, anything, a sign of life from within the room itself. It was deathly silent. The only noise came from the creaking of the boards around them as the wind shook and rattled the building's frame, the groaning as it shifted back and forth in the growing storm outside.
Around and around.
And around we go.
He got to the end of the third circle, eyes closed for a moment as he felt the image flow back into his head, then he let the line trail off into a thin little point.
"I'm done..."
It came out softer than he'd intended it to, wavering on his breath, but Edmund heard it all the same, looking up from the last of his own designs.
"Excellent. Start on the pentagrams. Remember, one in each corner. I'll begin work on the lettering."
Sakamoto nodded, hoping he looked more confident than he felt. The darkness felt like it was churning around him, bubbling and frothing and threatening to overflow into his eyes and stain his lips.
Grabbing the string again, he pulled it tight, using it to measure the angle of his first pentagram to the upper-right of the circle. Bitter fluid was building in the back of his throat, burning, each new line he painted in the design searing into his retinas and soaking his bones in a mind-numbing chill.
He closed his eyes once. Twice. Waiting until his quivering hand slowed before dabbing his brush back into the paint, thick and white and jarring against the dusty, worn carpet.
Concentrate.
Concentrate.
Concentrate.
The first thing Taichi noticed was the smell. Damp. Dank. Moldy. Earthy. Like a field after rain. Faint at first, then gaining strength, seeping into his nostrils and filling up his lungs, stuffy, moist air enveloping his body and wetting his skin.
He opened his eyes.
Dark.
It was dark.
Where was he?
He was in room 413.
His arms felt heavy, languid, like thick branches to his either side. He glanced to his left, to his right, eyelids slow as they blinked, eyes widening to take in as much light as possible.
Was he?
Was he in room 413?
He shook his head, trying to clear it. The odor was stronger now, making his temples pulse, his eyes swim.
"Masa...yuki...?"
He tried to sit up. He'd barely moved his upper body off the ground when his head hit solid wood.
"Shit, ow, shit..."
He winced, eyes scrunching and pain throbbing out from his forehead where he'd made contact with the ceiling.
Ceiling?
Eyebrows furrowing, his brought his hands up to search his surroundings, meeting rough wood not more than a few inches above his face. Tracing the outline to the left and right, he found two similar surfaces to his either side, caging him in.
His heart sunk into his stomach with a gurgle as he froze in horror. He flung his arms around him, meeting walls on every side, behind, below, above, he kicked out his feet and winced as his knees slammed into the ceiling.
He was trapped.
"H-hey-...!"
His voice crackled and warbled in the back of his throat.
He was trapped.
Shaking his head in disbelief, he began pounding up on the wood above him, but it wouldn't budge. Tears welled up in his eyes as the stuffy, damp air clouded his lungs.
Let me out let me out let me out.
He pounded on the walls around him, biting down on his tongue. He could barely even move, the wooden cage around him narrow and unyielding, mere inches above his face.
He struck at it harder, his hands stinging with prickles each time they met the stiff board above him. He pressed against it with his palms, using his entire body, shoulders pressed back against the ground as he pushed upwards, but still nothing.
LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT.
He could barely see now, watery tears filling his eye sockets as his breath shortened, quickened, desperate little gasps into his lungs. It felt like the air was thinning. His head buzzed and whirled as his consciousness faded in and out.
He let out a cry as he shoved against the wood with everything he had. There was a faint crack, a snap, and he felt the box shudder around him. For a second, his heart swelled with hope, his body light as his nerves danced, then the wood above him bent with a horrible groan, curling inwards towards his face as soft, wet earth dribbled into the gap and onto his skin.
No.
Not dirt.
His hands came up to his face as the slimy specks began squirming and wriggling against him, more and more spilling from the crack and tumbling around him.
Maggots.
He began twisting, convulsing in the narrow box, spinning back and forth as hoarse cries overtook his throat and his hands scraped and pulled at his face. They were crawling all over him, writhing against him, into his nose, into his mouth, covering his eyes as his lips struggled and gasped for breath. He bent backwards, hands clenched into his face and pulling, pulling, pulling, pulling until he was-
-he jerked forward and nearly tripped.
His eyes trembled in their sockets.
Where.
No.
What.
He glanced around. Daylight. It was daylight.
He was standing next to a curb, a wide parking lot splayed out before his eyes. It was so bright, he couldn't quite take everything in yet.
His eyes glanced down. Spiderman Reebok. His toes curled and stretched inside the flashy, multi-colored sneakers. He was holding something. Gripping it tight between his pudgy little fingers.
No.
No.
His eyes widened as dread filled his gut.
"Taichi! I've been looking all over for you. Why on earth did you leave the store?"
With a glance back, he saw his mother walking out of the automatic doors of the store's entrance.
"What are you doing just-"
She stopped. She saw what he was holding.
"Taichi, did you take that from the store?"
He tried to hide the game behind his back, hands sweating as he stepped back onto the curb.
"Taichi give that to me."
His mother leaned towards him, hand outstretched. When he didn't respond, she grabbed his shirt sleeve and yanked him forward, pulling his arm out from behind his back and pulling the game away.
"You little thief!"
She slapped his cheek, and he felt tears sting the corners of his eyes as he looked away.
"Your father's gonna be furious when he hears about this!"
Her hand found his wrist, wrapping around it like a sharp tendril, and then she was pulling him, jerking him back into the store as he fought to keep up, nearly tripping onto the cement.
He closed his eyes, willing it away.
I'm sorry, mama.
Don't hurt me.
Don't hate me.
He opened his eyes again and he was in a locker room.
High school.
These were his high school lockers. He was in his gym uniform, skinny little legs jutting from the maroon fabric hung from his thighs.
No.
It was empty. The other students were all out playing dodgeball. But he was here. He wasn't supposed to be here. He was sitting on one of the benches, the other boy in front of him looking at him expectantly.
Not this.
Then forward.
He was leaning forward.
And their lips pressed against each other hesitantly, nervous and trembling but curious and hopeful, wanting to feel, needing to feel.
He kissed back, even as the tingle in the back of his head told him to stop, stop, not now, not here, stop, Taichi, what are you, no.
"Ewww, check out the fags!"
Taichi swiveled with a terrified jerk. Two of their classmates had meandered back in from the gym, fingers pointed, mouths warped in vindictive sneers.
The other boy stumbled quickly to his feet, face pale. "I'm not a fag! He is! He made me do it!"
All eyes turned to Taichi, his own voice stuck in his throat, even as he tried to speak, tried to call out, tried to take it all back, but it was too late, and now there were more of them in the entrance to the locker room, closing in on him, eyes blaming him, tongues accusing him.
"Fag, fag!"
"Gay little freak!"
"Don't touch me with your homo germs."
Taichi shook his head, but the words still wouldn't form. There were five of them now, standing all around him and laughing. Even the boy from earlier was laughing now, lips pulled back in a smirk.
"Cocksucker. You want cock in your mouth, faggot?"
"Lookit him. Probably has a hard-on already just thinkin' 'bout all'av our cocks."
The boy nearest the front stepped forward, pulling the front of his gym shorts down.
Taichi clenched his eyes shut as a hand yanked back on his hair.
I'm not here I'm not here I'm not here.
I'm no one.
I'm nothing.
I'm a speck.
No one can hurt a speck.
"Taichi."
He was breathing hard, chest aching and throat tender. He squeezed his eyes tighter.
"Taichi, look at me."
He opened the eyes to see his psychiatrist staring at him, her curls bouncing aside her cheeks with every shift of her head. Her eyes were narrowed as they took him in, his hands clasped on his knees and his eyes hidden under gray bags.
"You know what you're doing to your family, don't you?"
He nodded his head.
"You're a shame to your family."
He nodded his head.
"You're a disgusting little boy."
He nodded his head.
"An abomination against God."
He nodded his head again, and this time it plunged into water. All around him, filling up his mouth and nose, as cold as ice. He pulled his head out of the bathtub with a gasp, water dribbling down his chin, down his throat, and he coughed, gagged, choked, sobbed into the water as it continued filling up around him.
Not good enough.
He couldn't even drown himself properly.
He couldn't do anything.
He shoved his head back under the water, lungs tightening as he directed his head towards the running faucet, knives biting into his scalp. He couldn't even feel anymore. His nerves had dulled, numb to the pain, his body shaking and trembling as he gasped beneath the surface and water rushed into his lungs.
Don't hate me.
Please don't hate me.
His world was fading.
For our next act, the disappearing boy. Now you see him, now you don't!
Breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe.
Ladybug, ladybug, fly away home.
He inhaled sharply and the water disappeared, splashing down around him in thick heavy drops that vanished as soon as they hit the floor.
He was back in room 413. Kneeling in the middle of the floor, surrounded by darkness. His hands were clutching his throat, breath hoarse and his eyes bugging out of his head. He licked his lips, rising up slowly, cautiously, heart beating like he'd just run a marathon and his nerves hypersensitive, prickling and buzzing and running with electricity.
The giggle was back, dancing around him, around him, through him, a part of him, right in his chest. There was a whisp of air along the back of his neck as his eyes searched terrified and strained in the shadows around him.
You're more interesting than I thought.
Blood.
He tasted blood on his lips.
He didn't even have to reach a hand up to know that he was bleeding from his nose. The sensation of it gliding down his sweaty skin to balance precariously on his upper lip tickled all the way down to the base of his spine.
I may not be able to keep my promise after all.
Reverend Edmund stood up, one arm to his forehead and wiping away the sweat that had started to form. Sakamoto took a rest from his own work, looking down at the extensive mesh of lines, symbols, circles, and stars that now decorated the carpet.
A circle.
Within a circle.
Within a circle.
Surrounded by four pentagrams.
With a triangle at its peak to seal in the demon.
His eyes were watering. He brought his hands up to wipe at his face, fingers sticky with white paint.
"Good job, Masayuki." Edmund gave him a little smile, indicating the series of symbols he'd just finished transcribing from memory into the fibers of the carpet. "Maybe this is a possible path for you, hm?"
Sakamoto bit down on his lip, the twist in his heart indicating he wasn't yet quite sure how he felt about the comment.
He pushed himself up to his feet, knees and thighs aching as his eyes went towards the door, ears still keen on every little sound.
Or lack of sound.
He'd yet to hear anything from within 413. It was as silent as the grave, and despite his better judgment, he almost wondered if Taichi was even still in the room at all. He let out a shaky breath between his lips as he focused instead on the grain of the door, the surface where their final triangle would need to be painstakingly, carefully, drawn.
"We're almost done with the circle. After that we'll assemble the other requisites and began the bindings. I'll need your help once we get into the sealing process as I'm not sure how much of a fight this beast'll put-"
He stopped.
Sakamoto turned his head away from the door at the abrupt silence.
His eyes bugged out of his head.
Edmund was staring down at his stomach, arms frozen to his side as his breath caught in his throat, a thin, silver pole with jagged edges jutting out from the middle of his gut.
"R-... Reverend...?" Sakamoto's voice quivered, legs like lead and stuck to the floor.
Blood was dribbling down from the hole in the middle of his stomach, staining the front of his cassock as the red stain grew larger and larger. Then he was plunged forward, face first into the middle of the circle and falling with a cascade of dust.
The pole was pulled out of his stomach only to get jabbed in once more, grinding into his flesh again and again as splatters of blood flew up to decorate the walls and surrounding carpet, speckling Sakamoto's face and clothes.
And still he couldn't move.
He could only stare.
It was pushed in one last time with an impish giggle, jerked back and forth to make sure it had passed all the way through his chest cavity, before getting pulled back out almost leisurely, the end of it coated in gleaming red and leaking onto the floor, tattered entrails and flesh gleaming from the reverend's butchered backside.
Nagano smiled, pupils tiny in the whites of his eye sockets. He cocked his head to the side with a laugh.
"Thought I'd brush up my game, you know?" He held what could now be seen more clearly as the snapped-off handle of a golf club in his hands as if he was about to tee-off, giving it a little swing.
"...H-... Hiroshi..." The blood drained from Sakamoto's face as his heart dropped into his stomach, lone blood splatters still dripping down his cheeks.
"You forgot about me, didn't you? Everyone did!" Nagano's lips curled up in a demonic grin as his shoulders shook in mirth. "But Cuttle didn't. Cuttle doesn't forget anyone."
Sakamoto took a step back, shaking his head. "You're not Hiroshi..."
"Ding-dong!" Nagano's eyes widened like two saucers, straining against the sockets. He whipped the golf handle up to rest on his shoulder, spraying blood into the air. "I should have known it wouldn't take you long, what with you being so smart and all. Not so easy to manipulate like the others." He shook his head in amusement. "Even this idiot practically gave me his body in the end." He swept a hand over his torso.
"What the fuck do you want?!" Sakamoto gripped his hands into fists and tried to put on a front of confidence even as his heart beat triple-time in his chest and tears threatened the corners of his eyes.
Nagano stared at him. Through him. Eyes alight with delight. "Oh... you know what I want." He gripped the golf handle like a bat, muscles visibly tight in his arms.
Then he charged.
"What do you want?!" Taichi swiveled back and forth from his spot on the floor, breath caught in back of his throat.
There was no answer.
But the walls.
The walls pulsed.
In out. In out.
It was like they were alive, the sound of it echoing through his head and filling his consciousness. In tune with his own heart. Faster and faster as his breath quickened and choked.
He brought his hands to his head, clenching his eyes shut.
Tune it out tune it out tune it out.
He screamed into the darkness, trying to overtake the sound of those walls pulsating, gyrating, moving in on him. He screamed until his throat burned and his oxygen gave out and all that spilled from his lips was a high-pitched gasp.
He opened his eyes.
He was in bed.
Shaking his head, he blinked, blinked again, the scenery didn't change. He looked down at himself, naked beneath the light blanket, soft light drifting in from the nearby window.
There was someone next to him, still asleep and facing the opposite wall, thin body wrapped up and tangled in the sheets.
"...Shige?" The name barely escaped his lips, trembling as it hit the air. He reached a hand over, atop the other boy's waist, all curved and sloped beneath the crisp sheets, then up to his shoulder, fingers gripping it lightly as he gave him a little shake. "Shige?"
There was a murmur, the slightest of movements, and Taichi felt his heart cry out for the way it cushioned his mind and swelled in his chest.
Please let this be real.
But even as Joshima began to turn towards him, the tingle on the back of his neck was stretching out in all directions, making his nerves twitch and his head scream.
Red.
The Joshima that turned to face him was covered in red.
Taichi recoiled, his heart leaping into his throat and temples pulsing.
The bloody holes carved into Joshima's face were the same as when he'd found him on the bathroom floor, fleshy and jagged and leaking red, so much red, pus and tissue and flesh dribbling down his cheeks, down his nose, dripping from his chin.
"Taichi, what did you do to me?" Joshima's hands were groping towards him, searching, blind as his fingers curled and reached. "Taichi, look what you've done!"
Taichi shook his head, body stiffening as it grew cold with dread. "I-... I didn't... I-..."
Joshima moved further, forcing Taichi back, back, back, his legs caught and tangled in the bed sheets, growing soaked with blood as it continued to pour from the holes in Joshima's face. His skin was bubbling now, the entirety of his face seeming to melt, skin falling, sliding, gushing down the front of his skull.
"Taichi, why did you do this to me?!"
Joshima reached forward with a quick lunge, and Taichi had to jerk backwards to avoid the other boy's hands. He lost his balance on the side of the bed and went tumbling to the floor below, half-wrapped in the sheets as his head and shoulders struck the ground, knocking the wind out of him.
He couldn't breathe for a second.
When he opened his eyes again, the bed was gone.
He was in the middle of a hallway.
It looked like the hallway from the hospital he'd been in the day before. Only empty. And longer. Much longer.
He sat up and glanced around, heart still thumping out of his chest and sweat leaking down the back of his neck. He felt cold. A quick look told him he was still naked, only now there was no sheet, and he was sitting exposed in the middle of the tile.
Laughter.
There was laughter around him.
He couldn't see anyone, but he could hear them. He could feel them. Their gazes as they pointed and laughed and jeered.
His hands went between his legs, trying to cover himself, his head tilted downwards in shame.
The laughter grew louder.
"Look at the gay little freak."
"Poor fag doesn't even know what to do."
"He should just kill himself already and make it easier on everyone."
Get away get away get away.
He pushed himself to his feet, hands still to his crotch as he started stumbling down the hallway.
The voices were so loud he could barely hear anymore.
All around him.
Echoing.
There was a door. He could see it.
Get away get away get away.
It was so loud, his ears were ringing. He was going to go deaf. All around him, through him, in him, knives stabbing at his ears and making his brain buzz.
He half-tripped over to the door, hand wrenching it open as he slipped inside before slamming it shut behind him.
The voices went out.
Silence.
It was dark in the room except for a single lightbulb hanging like a limp sack a few feet away. Beneath the lightbulb was a table, bare except for a lone gun, black metal harsh against his eyes.
He took a step forward, staring down at it in wonder, as if he'd never seen a gun before in his life.
"What's that?"
He didn't do anything for a moment, the voice behind him soft, curious. Then he turned around.
He looked down at his ten-year-old self, eyes big and round and gazing up at him inquisitively.
"Will that make me better?"
Taichi's spit got caught in his throat. He blinked.
And suddenly he was no longer part of the scene, he was watching the scene. He coughed, choked, surrounded by water, pounding at the glass in front of him that was separating him from his body. He shook his head, trying to scream, but the sound of it getting absorbed into the water as it went rushing into his lungs.
The Taichi outside the glass turned back towards the table, picking up the gun and turning it over in his hands.
The Taichi in the glass beat desperately with his fists as his lungs fought against the water gurgling down his throat.
And then the Taichi outside the glass pressed the barrel of the gun between his lips and pulled the trigger. There was an explosion of red and tissuey pink as the back of his head split open and his brains splattered to the floor. His body slumped and crumbled, hitting the ground like a marionette whose strings had been cut.
Taichi screamed, an unearthly bellow that shook his chest as the water pressed in around him.
Then a deep siren reverberated against the glass, stabbing at his head, so loud he couldn't think, so loud he couldn't live, on and on and on and on.
Until the glass broke.
He fell to the floor with a wet splat, his hands to his ears, tearing at his ears, willing the pain away.
The golf handle hit the side of Sakamoto's head.
Hard.
His vision went black for a moment, body numb, and then the pain exploded across his temple, spreading through his skull and knocking his breath away as a noiseless scream formed in his throat.
His legs went out from under him as the force of the blow sent him into the wall. Hands scraping the wood, he tried to keep himself upright, chest tightened in panic.
Stay up stay up stay up.
Eyes wild, he turned back towards Nagano even as his head throbbed and his body screamed at him. He could feel warm blood drizzling down the side of his cheek.
"Feet aren't as fast as your head, hm?"
Nagano was walking towards him, floor creaking under each step as he ground his feet into the reverend's limp body.
Sakamoto grunted and pushed himself away from the wall, back, back, away, away. Nagano's body moved in a strange, jilted fashion, like a doll being manipulated by its owner. The golf handle drug along the ground as he followed after Sakamoto.
Bringing a hand to the side of his head, Sakamoto tried to calm the grating throb that made it hard to think, pressing his fist to his temple. With a little jerk, he took off down the hall, stumbling, tripping over the carpet as his legs refused to function correctly. He made it to the next door down, not even thinking as he tried to wrench it open, but it was locked the same as every other door on the floor, and didn't budge in his grip.
"Where are you going?" Nagano giggled, not even speeding up his pace. "You know you can't go in there."
Sakamoto stepped back from the door, frozen in the middle of the hallway as he searched desperately for something he could use, a way out, an idea, any idea, a method to turn the situation in his favor.
There was nothing besides the dark hallway, the carpet, the walls enclosed around him, the light fading now that they'd started to wander away from the flashlight.
Think think think think think.
Nagano's eyes popped open wide, mouth pulled into a tight line. He raised the golf club above his head and ran forward.
Sakamoto barely had time to dodge, the jagged end missing his throat by centimeters as he tumbled backwards, arms flailing as he fell to the floor. The golf handle slammed into the wall, burying itself into the wood and sticking. Sakamoto took the opportunity to scramble back to his feet and take off down the hallway, breath heavy and screaming in his lungs as he careened into the darkness.
A slam.
He didn't realize it was the sound of his own wind getting knocked out of him until the pain erupted in his stomach. Eyes bulging out of their sockets, he gasped, unable to move, unable to think, body curled around the stair railing he'd just run straight into.
"You should watch where you're going!" Nagano squealed from somewhere behind him. There was a crunch as he pulled the golf club out of the wall.
World spinning, Sakamoto brought his hands up to the railing, fingers grasping it, shaking, trembling, mind trying to decipher up from down as his legs instinctively followed the railing down the first couple of stairs.
Away away away.
He turned his head back the way he'd come.
Nagano was right in front of him.
"Boo."
Another slam.
This time from below.
The golf club rose up from somewhere he couldn't see and thudded into his jaw. Eyes swiveling back in his head, his arms flailed to his either side as he teetered precariously on the steps, suspended in air.
Then he was falling, tumbling, head over heels, crashing into step after step as his body twisted and turned and slammed down the staircase. It came at him from all sides, his body screaming, head unable to keep up with each new onslaught as the edge of each stair bit into his skin, jabbed into his bones. His arm thudded against one of the sharp corners, cutting into the skin and muscle all the way to the bone and forcing a scream from his lips, but his world didn't stop, turning over and over as his head throbbed and pulsed.
He hit the carpet of the third floor.
But he still couldn't comprehend anything. His vision spun, whirled, even when he closed his eyes, his body numb with pain and forcing his spine to curl in on itself, his arms pulled in towards his chest as tears leaked down his cheeks.
"Watch that last step. It's a doozy."
There was the sound of footsteps, noisy and clanking down the stairs.
Get up get up get up.
He tried to ignore the pain, fighting it, even as his stomach churned and his limbs refused to function properly. He pulled himself along the hallway with his hands, leaking blood from his arm and down his chin.
Up up up up.
He stumbled to his feet, tottering from side to side and hitting the wall as his vision rose and fell in waves, spinning around him.
The footsteps behind him stopped.
No.
Just the sound of them on the stairs stopped.
Heart thudding in his ears, he tried to run forward, stagger forward, away away away.
A hand grabbed his shoulder.
He was jerked backwards, slammed into the nearby wall, spine alight with fire. Just as he opened his eyes, he saw the jagged end of the golf club plunge into his chest.
When Taichi next opened his eyes, everything was silent.
Still.
Dark.
He was back in 413, that much was clear. He was no longer wet. The giggle that had been haunting his thoughts was gone. His vision had stopped spinning.
Alone.
He was alone.
He pushed himself to his knees hesitantly, head on a swivel as he glanced around the darkened walls of the room. It was like time had stopped. So quiet he could have heard a pin drop.
Bringing a hand up to his head, he wiped at his eyes, taking his glasses off for a moment before replacing them back on his nose. His head hurt, throbbing just behind his temples. On off. On off. An even pulse.
He let himself fall back off his knees and onto his rear with a thud, leaning forward against his thighs. He shook his head, biting down on his tongue.
What had happened to the visions?
What had happened to the voice dancing just out of sight?
It all seemed like a dream now. Like none of it had even happened. He clenched his eyes shut against the darkness and focused on the even in out, in out of his breath.
"Taichi."
He looked up with a start, heart leaping towards his throat.
"...Shige?"
Joshima was standing in front of him, head cocked to the side in curious inquisition. He was still dressed in his hospital gown, gauze wrapped around his face in heavy layers.
"Shige, what are you doing here?"
Taichi's voice was careful, his eyes narrowed.
Joshima just shook his head with a little sigh. "I came to find you." He took a step forward, hand held out towards Taichi's curled form on the floor. After a moment, Taichi reached up to take it, the other boy's skin warm against his palm as pushed himself to his feet.
"I'm sorry, Shige."
"Hm?" Joshima cocked his head in the other direction, nose twitching. Even beneath the bandages, Taichi could still recognize the expression of befuddlement, bubbles hidden just behind the other's lips.
"For what I did to you."
Joshima smiled at this, giving a little shake of his head.
"It's alright. You couldn't help it."
Taichi blinked, face expressionless.
"You're broken."
The words made him flinch, his eyes twitch, yet they resonated in his chest, a long-lost explanation that he just now fully understood. His eyes fell to the floor, lips pressed together as the words washed over him.
"You're broken, and you've never had anyone there to help piece you back together."
"Broken..."
Joshima took a step forward, his arms coming down softly around Taichi's shoulders as he pulled him in close. "It's ok. We're all searching for the answers."
Taichi felt the warmth of Joshima's chest against his cheek as he stared unblinking, his jaw lax.
It all made sense now.
Why his parents had screamed at him.
Why his friends had made fun of him.
Why everyone had tried to change him.
He was broken.
Joshima's fingers were carding through his hair, calming, soothing, Taichi's heart settling into an even, slow pace.
"There's a way out. A way away from this all."
Joshima's hand stopped, and Taichi's spine popped as he stood up straight.
"A way to get fixed."
"I can be fixed?" Taichi's tongue felt thick and fat in his mouth, his words slurred.
Joshima poked a finger against Taichi's chest, right over his heart. "As long as you believe in yourself."
"Myself..." Taichi brought his hand up to where Joshima's finger was pressed into his skin, twisting his fingers into the fabric of his shirt.
"Only you can make a change."
"Only me..."
Joshima's fingers curled around Taichi's hands with a little squeeze, then lowered it towards his stomach, keeping it pressed against the fabric.
"Change starts from the inside."
"The inside..."
Joshima's other hand lifted up the hem of Taichi's shirt, and soon Taichi felt the soft skin of his stomach against his fingertips, shuddering at the touch.
"Let's fix ourselves."
Joshima leaned forward, words barely whisping past his lips as he pushed Taichi's hand into his gut.
"Hiroshi, I know you're in there!"
Sakamoto's voice cracked, and he let out a strangled gasp as Nagano drove the handle further into his chest, twisting it into his muscle. Blood sputtered out from the fresh hole, staining his shirt and leaking down his chest, splurting upwards at each of Nagano's subsequent jabs.
"Don't be stupid. You think any of him is left in here? I didn't choose him randomly." Nagano grinned, eyes wide and straining as his lips curled upwards. He wrenched the golf handle to the side with a twist, and Sakamoto's knees almost gave out as he clenched his teeth to hold in the scream. "I chose someone I knew I could fill in easily. Somebody without a strong will. Always in the background and tagging along with the rest of the group."
Sakamoto's eyes widened with a shuddered start, pupils dilating. "H-... how long have you-..."
"I knew I wanted him since I caught a glimpse inside his head the first time you touched my door."
It flashed through his head like a knife, the image of Nagano with blood leaking out his nose and ears, the two of them panicking in the middle of the hallway outside room 413.
"I've been leading him here. All I needed to do was get him in a weak enough state. All of you played perfectly into my plan." Nagano wrenched the golf handle to the other side, and Sakamoto gasped, fingers gripping the handle where it had sunk into his flesh, but muscles too weak and shaky to fight back. "He was always envious of you, you know. Masayuki, the smart one. The one with all the ideas. The one with good grades." Nagano twisted the handle and laughed as the sharpened point tore further into Sakamoto's shoulder, another gush of blood leaking down the side. "He wanted to be just like you. Yet you barely even acknowledged him."
"That's not true!" Sakamoto groaned, trying to push up at the force of his words, but only succeeding in driving the handle further through him. His vision swam as salty tears soaked his cheeks and chin, snot leaking down into his mouth.
Nagano just smirked, an amused scoff in the back of his throat. "What the fuck does that matter now? He's gone. And soon you will be too."
Sakamoto bit down on his tongue, breath hoarse. "What. You don't wanna dissect me too? Isn't that what you want? To study our organs?" His voice didn't even sound like his own, coated with phlegm. "That's what this whole goddamn thing is about, isn't it?"
Nagano's head flipped towards the ceiling as he let out a curt laugh, eyes wild. "I thought you were smarter than that, Masayuki. I'm almost disappointed." His eyelids lowered with a dark glower. "Why would I need to see your insides? You're sickeningly normal and boring. Nothing special about you. Now, as for my new friend up in room 413..." Nagano's tongue slipped out between his lips as his grin widened. "...he is a special one."
Sakamoto blanched, the color draining from his face. His hands tightened around the handle of the golf club instinctively, muscles stiffening with a jerk. "B-... but you..."
"It was too good of an opportunity to pass up. Carpe diem and all that, you know." Nagano's tongue slid up to the corner of his mouth, curling with a little twist. "The dissection's already started."
Sakamoto's blood ran cold, and for a moment, the pain in his chest disappeared. "You fucker!" His voice bit out of his throat with a growl as his fingers jammed into the smooth silver of the golf handle, and with an abrupt tug, he yanked it out of his chest. The end of it went straight back into Nagano's forehead, knocking him backwards and sending him into the opposite wall.
Sakamoto didn't even wait. He threw the handle away and only just caught Nagano's body crumpling against the wall before he was racing towards the stairwell, his footsteps echoing around him, through him, a part of him as he charged desperately up the steps. He didn't even know how he was moving, blood leaking from his chest and arm and his head pounding, throbbing, vision pulsing, and muscles only responding on instinct.
He flew out onto the landing of the fourth floor and back to the circle where the reverend's flayed body still simmered in a pool of his own blood. He nearly tripped in his speed, stumbling across the carpet and catching the doorframe between his fingers to keep from crashing to the ground. He couldn't hear, could barely see, his hand shaking as it gripped the handle of the door and wrenched it open.
Taichi.
Taichi, don't be dead.
Dear god, don't be dead.
Sakamoto stopped in the doorway, his heart pounding in his temples as his blood froze.
"Masayuki..."
Taichi was smiling at him.
His grin wide and shaky and his eyes like sunken-in points in the middle of his colorless face.
"...now I can finally be fixed..."
His hands were cupped in front of him.
Intestines hanging off of them like bloody sausages.
"TAICHI."
Sakamoto flung himself towards the other boy who was simply kneeling calmly in the middle of the room.
"Taichi, shit, fuck, oh god, fucking..." Sakamoto could barely see through the water soaking his eyes. Taichi just continued to smile at him, eyes pained and lips trembling, a sticky pool of blood already surrounding him as it pumped out of the gaping hole in his stomach.
"Taichi, fuck, snap out of it." Sakamoto couldn't even think as his hands went to Taichi's, innards soft and slimy between his fingers, all glistening mass of pink and red. Pulling them from Taichi's grip, he began shoving them back in the other's stomach, blood squelching out from the torn skin and flesh and covering his hands as he tried to piece Taichi back together. "No, no, no, no, no, no, no..." Taichi just watched him wordlessly as Sakamoto's hands thrust inside him, pushing the slick pink tubes haphazardly back into his gut.
There was a loud metal clang behind him, and Sakamoto spun around with a jerk, tears and blood flinging off his face and hair.
Nagano was standing in the doorway, having just flung down the golf handle and now holding his stomach as he doubled-over in raucous laughter.
"You're too... you're too..." He brought a finger up to wipe at the tears forming in the corners of his eyes. "You're too late!"
The laughter filled the room, bounced off the walls, circled Sakamoto's head before stabbing at his heart.
"What are you trying to do? You're too late! Don't you get it? Your great plan is ruined!" Nagano stood up straight, his eyes dark as his hands rose to his either side to gesture towards their surroundings. "Everything you did was for nothing. As long as I have this body, I'm free to leave the dorm and continue my experiments around the world. I'll fix them. I'll find a way to fix everyone who's broken. We'll no longer have to live in fear of normal people like you who'd look down on us and lock us away."
Sakamoto's eyes shook in their sockets, his arms still wrist-deep in Taichi's gut as the blood flowed hot against his skin. He turned his head to look at Taichi, still smiling, but the corners of his mouth trembling, his brows furrowed as though about to cry.
"This world is cruel to those who are different, but no one knows how to change them. They try and try, but it's useless, because no one knows the source." Nagano slapped his hand to his chest, eyes sharp and unwavering. "But I'll put a stop to that. I've already found the cause, and all I need now is to study. They'll all come. Everyone will come. They'll come to be fixed. Only I can offer them salvation!" He cocked his head back towards the ceiling, hands splayed to his either side.
Behind Sakamoto, Taichi slumped to the ground, expression unchanging. His head hit the cement with a sharp whack.
Nagano's gaze lowered until he was staring at Taichi, mouth curled into a strangely loving smile.
"War can't be won without sacrifices..."
The air stood still.
Heavy in the darkened room.
Weighing on their shoulders.
And then Sakamoto was to his feet, grabbing the golf handle off the floor before stabbing it through Nagano's gut.
Nagano's eyes bugged out of his head.
For just a moment, time seemed to stand still, Nagano's hands outstretched towards Sakamoto and the sharpened point of the handle stuck deep in Nagano's flesh, and then it sped up, fast-forwarding to reality as Nagano's body flung back with the impact and collided with the wall, Sakamoto shoving the handle clean through his body to bury itself into the wood.
Sakamoto took a shaky step back, his hands now soaked with both Taichi and Nagano's blood and his breath haggard.
Nagano's mouth was frozen, his chest heaving and muscles trembling as his body slumped, pinned to the wall like a fly. Then he coughed, a fleshy, phlegmy jerk of his chest that traveled through his upper body and sent a bubble of blood out between his lips.
Sakamoto wiped at the sweat on his forehead, giving out a cough of his own as Nagano's head cocked to the side, the look of surprise fading away to be replaced with a tired, but almost knowing smile.
"Very nice, Masayuki." Thick clots of blood dribbled down his chin as his lips curled upwards. "But even if you kill him, all it'll do will delay things. I'll find someone else. I've got all the time in the world."
"You've got less time than you think." Sakamoto's voice bit through the darkness, and Nagano's eyes sharpened. "You may have thought you had everything planned out perfectly, but you made one fatal mistake in your calculations." His hand went into the pocket of his jacket, clenching into a fist. "Because you see, Cuttle. I'm anything but normal."
He pulled a rosary out of his pocket, blood dripping down the chain of beads as it dangled from his fingers.
Nagano's eyes widened, straining against their sockets. "Wh-... when did you...?"
"In case anything happens to me, it'll be up to you to stop this thing using any means necessary."
The reverend's face was soft as he said it, but there was a stern sense of resolution in the way his jaw tightened around the words.
"Do you think you can handle that?"
Sakamoto's mouth went dry, but he nodded his head.
"Sorry, did this not work into your plans, Cuttle? You spent too much time focusing on peoples' insides and not enough on what was right in front of your eyes."
Nagano's face darkened, his eyes crazed as his lips curled in a desperate smirk. "Y-... you think you can actually do anything? You're too new. What can a fledgling priest hope to accomplish?"
Sakamoto felt the water pour over his head. It was cold, dripping down his cheeks and neck to splash against the pool of water surrounding his knees.
"I baptize you in the name of the Father..."
Again.
"And of the Son..."
And again.
"And of the Holy Spirit."
The water was dripping down his chin, between his lips.
"The God of power and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ had freed you from sin and brought you to new life through water and the Holy Spirit. He now anoints you with chrism of salvation, so that, united with His people, you may remain forever a member of Christ who is Priest, Prophet and King."
Sakamoto's expression didn't change, his free hand revealing the other object he'd just pulled from his pocket. An object he'd taken from Taichi's jacket not more than thirty seconds prior.
"That's why I have some help."
The green plastic was stained with splotches of red when he opened his hand, a speck of green in a sea of scarlet.
And then he flicked the lighter on.
It roared to life between his fingers, flame dancing and spinning and curling in the air. Sakamoto gripped it tighter, other hand pressed so tightly around the cross of his rosary, the edges of it pierced the skin of his palm as he recited the words he knew by heart.
"I conjure thee, O fire, by him who made thee and all other creatures for good in the world, that thou torment, burn, and consume this spirit, for everlasting. I condemn thee, spirit, because thou art disobedient and obeyest not my commandment, nor keepest the precepts of the Lord thy God, neither wilt thou obey me nor mine invocations."
The flame grew, billowed, ignited into a raging ball simmering in the air above his hand, lighting up the room, scorching the room, heat visible as it exuded from the white hot blaze.
Nagano was frozen in terror, eyes bulging out of their sockets as his body pressed tight against the wall, heat already beginning to melt the skin of his face.
"For which thine averseness and contempt thou art guilty of great disobedience and rebellion, and therefore shall I excommunicate thee, and shall burn thee in the immortal fire and bury thee in immortal oblivion!"
Tendrils of flames erupted from the fiery mass and engulfed the side of the room, Nagano screaming as it tore and scorched and melted the skin right off his bones, all the way through his body to the spirit housed in his soul and incinerating it into boiling vapor.
Sakamoto's body got flung back in the explosion of heat, and he nearly toppled to the ground, sweat running down his forehead and neck as his eyes stared in disbelief at the crackling white flames. Half the room was already lost in the conflagration, boards crackling and popping as the blaze spread along the walls. Nagano's scream still resounded in his ears as his heart pounded and pulsed in his chest, adrenaline rushing through his veins.
He didn't stare long.
Twisting on his heels, he gathered Taichi in his arms, pressing him tight to his chest as he fled the room. The walls had already begun to disintegrate, flames poking through holes in the wood as it spread into the adjacent rooms and sparked into the hallway. Sakamoto's lungs wheezed and gasped for air in the heavy, confining heat as his footsteps took him down the hall, Taichi limp and bleeding in his grip.
He barely made it down the stairs, vision warping and legs only moving on instinct. Narrowly avoiding crashing to the ground once he'd made it to the first floor, he slammed against the nearby wall, stopping for only a second before screaming down the hall towards the main entrance.
The cold night air hit him with a rush when he emerged into the darkness outside, the sound of the building creaking and groaning behind him still resounding in his ears. He limped, stumbled across the path and away from the dorm, fingers clenched in the fabric of Taichi's clothes as the flames started lapping at the windows and staining the night sky.
Get away get away get away.
He didn't stop. Didn't stop until he could barely move anymore, tumbling off the path beside an outcropping of trees and into the wet, dewy grass.
He dropped Taichi to the ground as he fell to his knees, letting out a phlegmy cough, blood speckling his lips as his lungs hacked and moaned. His face felt warm, hot, greasy, hands and clothes stained with blood-his own, Taichi's, Nagano's. Everything rushed to his head as his shoulders started shaking, tears that wouldn't come now flowing freely down his cheeks as his hands clenched at his face.
"...I can hear sirens..."
Sakamoto's back straightened, and he pulled himself back into the moment. There were indeed sirens, faint, but getting louder, echoing in the night air and swirling around them. Taichi's arms were splayed to his either side, head unmoving against the grass, but his eyes cracked open. The gentle rise and fall of his chest made the bloodied pink of the hole in his gut glisten in the light of the nearby lamp post.
"Taichi..." Sakamoto crawled over to him, pulling him up into his lap. "See? You're gonna be fine. They'll come and... fix you right up..."
Taichi blinked, staring up at the cloudy sky above them. His face had already lost its color, a dull, sickly greenish gray, and his lips were turning blue. He opened his mouth to say something, then shut it again, wordless.
"Just hold on a little longer..." Sakamoto tightened his grip around him, the dull ache of the hole in his chest nothing compared to the empty pain jabbing at his heart like a knife.
The sirens were louder now, long and biting at his ear drums.
"Take care of Shige for me... ok?"
Sakamoto parted his lips to retaliate, to tell him there was no need for that, that everything would be fine and soon both of them would be safe and warm in the hospital.
But instead.
He let out a shuddered sigh.
His voice softened by the way his throat tightened and stung.
"...I will."
By the time the fire engines and ambulances and police cars had Wicker surrounded and fire hoses were aimed in every window, Taichi was gone.
Part Seven
He directed the flashlight into the room as the door closed behind him. It was empty. The same room he'd been standing in less than a week ago. Four blank walls. Boarded up window. Oddly-shaped stain etched into the concrete floor. He stepped into the middle of the room hesitantly, tentatively, shoes noiseless and skin cold.
He turned off the light.
Blanketing himself in darkness.
It was strange. No longer confining as it had been in the hallway. No longer seeping into his lungs, wrapping around his chest, coating his breath.
He let out a soft sigh, low and deep, eyes closed before reopening slowly, widening to peer through the shadows. It was quiet. Deathly quiet. He couldn't even hear his companions outside the door. Nor the trees scratching against the outer walls. Nor the building creaking and moaning around him.
It was as if he'd left the dorm completely.
He'd gone somewhere else.
Another world.
He knelt down slowly in the middle of the room, concrete hard against his knees, and cold, chill creeping across the threshold of fabric to spread like ice crystals up his thighs and down his calves. The air hung still, trapped, and for a moment he wondered if there was air at all. But then he took a breath and the oxygen bubbled and frothed in his lungs.
Nothing. Nowhere. No one.
No no no.
He was nobody.
He placed his hands on his thighs, fingers sliding along the denim as a weight pressed down on his shoulders from above, holding him in place.
Something was dripping.
He could hear it.
Far off.
As if down a long tunnel.
A whisper.
Right in his ear.
He twisted around, behind him, eyes twisting this way and that in the darkness, but meeting no one. His heart beat up in his throat, making it hard to swallow, hard to breathe. He opened his mouth and let out air he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
Again.
The other side.
He could feel it, the hairs on the back of his neck twitching as the air brushed past his skin. He didn't turn right away this time, instead staring straight ahead at the wall, waiting.
The presence didn't disappear. It stayed. The sound of breathing more pronounced in his ear, warm on his neck.
Look at you sitting there like you own the place.
Then from behind him.
Who do you think you are?
His fingers curled tighter into his thighs, eyes watering as his nails bit into his skin. When he finally turned his head, searching for the voice, he felt the presence shift, dancing through the air to where he'd just been facing.
What are you doing, Taichi? Crybaby. Scaredy-cat. Why are you shaking, Taichi?"
Taichi didn't even realize he'd been shaking, his nerves disconnected from his brain and twitching, trembling, lips quaking as he breathed in and out.
The voice turned sickly sweet, right in here ear.
Here comes a candle to light you to bed...
He twisted around.
But now the voice was in the other ear.
Here comes the chopper to chop off your head...
His heart accelerated in his chest as a giggle swirled up his spine, nowhere and everywhere, ringing in his ears.
Chip, chop. Chip, chop.
It was right in front of him now.
The last man's dead.
Something pushed him. A dull, heavy weight on his chest that built like a firecracker under his skin. He went sprawling back on his rear, hitting his head on the floor with a sharp crack as his eyes swiveled up in his skull.
"I'll leave you in charge of the outer rings. Three, remember? Leave about an inch between each one."
Edmund handed a bottle of white spray paint over to Sakamoto, whose fingers shook as he took it, wrapping around the cylinder before tightening into a firm grip. He nodded his head.
The reverend took a hammer from his duffel, nail in his mouth as he directed a long piece of string towards the open patch of hallway just outside room 413. Measuring distances with his eyes, he moved the nail to the ground, giving it a few whacks with the hammer to send it through both the string and carpeting, embedding it neatly into the floorboards. He tossed the end of the string to Sakamoto, who promptly stretched it out to its full length and tied it around the can.
A circle.
Inside a circle.
Inside a circle.
He bit down on his tongue, a drop of sweat forming just above his temple to glide down his cheek as he positioned himself at the end of the string and began spraying a large white ring around the expanse of the hallway. Carefully. Slowly. His heart urged him faster as the dread roiled and twisted in his stomach, but he kept himself calm and his hand steady, forcing a slow, thorough pace. Once he'd successfully made it around the first circle, he retied the paint can further up the string to prepare for the next.
Edmund was crouched towards the middle, lips moving in silent chant and a vein visible on his forehead. He had a paintbrush as opposed to Sakamoto's can, his hand swift but graceful as shapes began to take form on the carpet's surface. A diamond. A star. Four stars, each with six points. Sakamoto could remember the picture in his head, just as the reverend had shown him in the dusty tome back in his office. In each of the triangles was a letter, a fluid stroke of the brush forming their shapes with ease, even atop the uneven surface of the carpet.
Sakamoto wiped at the sweat in his eyes, wondering when it had grown so warm. Even as he started on his third circle, his ears strained to hear, listening for a sound, anything, a sign of life from within the room itself. It was deathly silent. The only noise came from the creaking of the boards around them as the wind shook and rattled the building's frame, the groaning as it shifted back and forth in the growing storm outside.
Around and around.
And around we go.
He got to the end of the third circle, eyes closed for a moment as he felt the image flow back into his head, then he let the line trail off into a thin little point.
"I'm done..."
It came out softer than he'd intended it to, wavering on his breath, but Edmund heard it all the same, looking up from the last of his own designs.
"Excellent. Start on the pentagrams. Remember, one in each corner. I'll begin work on the lettering."
Sakamoto nodded, hoping he looked more confident than he felt. The darkness felt like it was churning around him, bubbling and frothing and threatening to overflow into his eyes and stain his lips.
Grabbing the string again, he pulled it tight, using it to measure the angle of his first pentagram to the upper-right of the circle. Bitter fluid was building in the back of his throat, burning, each new line he painted in the design searing into his retinas and soaking his bones in a mind-numbing chill.
He closed his eyes once. Twice. Waiting until his quivering hand slowed before dabbing his brush back into the paint, thick and white and jarring against the dusty, worn carpet.
Concentrate.
Concentrate.
Concentrate.
The first thing Taichi noticed was the smell. Damp. Dank. Moldy. Earthy. Like a field after rain. Faint at first, then gaining strength, seeping into his nostrils and filling up his lungs, stuffy, moist air enveloping his body and wetting his skin.
He opened his eyes.
Dark.
It was dark.
Where was he?
He was in room 413.
His arms felt heavy, languid, like thick branches to his either side. He glanced to his left, to his right, eyelids slow as they blinked, eyes widening to take in as much light as possible.
Was he?
Was he in room 413?
He shook his head, trying to clear it. The odor was stronger now, making his temples pulse, his eyes swim.
"Masa...yuki...?"
He tried to sit up. He'd barely moved his upper body off the ground when his head hit solid wood.
"Shit, ow, shit..."
He winced, eyes scrunching and pain throbbing out from his forehead where he'd made contact with the ceiling.
Ceiling?
Eyebrows furrowing, his brought his hands up to search his surroundings, meeting rough wood not more than a few inches above his face. Tracing the outline to the left and right, he found two similar surfaces to his either side, caging him in.
His heart sunk into his stomach with a gurgle as he froze in horror. He flung his arms around him, meeting walls on every side, behind, below, above, he kicked out his feet and winced as his knees slammed into the ceiling.
He was trapped.
"H-hey-...!"
His voice crackled and warbled in the back of his throat.
He was trapped.
Shaking his head in disbelief, he began pounding up on the wood above him, but it wouldn't budge. Tears welled up in his eyes as the stuffy, damp air clouded his lungs.
Let me out let me out let me out.
He pounded on the walls around him, biting down on his tongue. He could barely even move, the wooden cage around him narrow and unyielding, mere inches above his face.
He struck at it harder, his hands stinging with prickles each time they met the stiff board above him. He pressed against it with his palms, using his entire body, shoulders pressed back against the ground as he pushed upwards, but still nothing.
LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT.
He could barely see now, watery tears filling his eye sockets as his breath shortened, quickened, desperate little gasps into his lungs. It felt like the air was thinning. His head buzzed and whirled as his consciousness faded in and out.
He let out a cry as he shoved against the wood with everything he had. There was a faint crack, a snap, and he felt the box shudder around him. For a second, his heart swelled with hope, his body light as his nerves danced, then the wood above him bent with a horrible groan, curling inwards towards his face as soft, wet earth dribbled into the gap and onto his skin.
No.
Not dirt.
His hands came up to his face as the slimy specks began squirming and wriggling against him, more and more spilling from the crack and tumbling around him.
Maggots.
He began twisting, convulsing in the narrow box, spinning back and forth as hoarse cries overtook his throat and his hands scraped and pulled at his face. They were crawling all over him, writhing against him, into his nose, into his mouth, covering his eyes as his lips struggled and gasped for breath. He bent backwards, hands clenched into his face and pulling, pulling, pulling, pulling until he was-
-he jerked forward and nearly tripped.
His eyes trembled in their sockets.
Where.
No.
What.
He glanced around. Daylight. It was daylight.
He was standing next to a curb, a wide parking lot splayed out before his eyes. It was so bright, he couldn't quite take everything in yet.
His eyes glanced down. Spiderman Reebok. His toes curled and stretched inside the flashy, multi-colored sneakers. He was holding something. Gripping it tight between his pudgy little fingers.
No.
No.
His eyes widened as dread filled his gut.
"Taichi! I've been looking all over for you. Why on earth did you leave the store?"
With a glance back, he saw his mother walking out of the automatic doors of the store's entrance.
"What are you doing just-"
She stopped. She saw what he was holding.
"Taichi, did you take that from the store?"
He tried to hide the game behind his back, hands sweating as he stepped back onto the curb.
"Taichi give that to me."
His mother leaned towards him, hand outstretched. When he didn't respond, she grabbed his shirt sleeve and yanked him forward, pulling his arm out from behind his back and pulling the game away.
"You little thief!"
She slapped his cheek, and he felt tears sting the corners of his eyes as he looked away.
"Your father's gonna be furious when he hears about this!"
Her hand found his wrist, wrapping around it like a sharp tendril, and then she was pulling him, jerking him back into the store as he fought to keep up, nearly tripping onto the cement.
He closed his eyes, willing it away.
I'm sorry, mama.
Don't hurt me.
Don't hate me.
He opened his eyes again and he was in a locker room.
High school.
These were his high school lockers. He was in his gym uniform, skinny little legs jutting from the maroon fabric hung from his thighs.
No.
It was empty. The other students were all out playing dodgeball. But he was here. He wasn't supposed to be here. He was sitting on one of the benches, the other boy in front of him looking at him expectantly.
Not this.
Then forward.
He was leaning forward.
And their lips pressed against each other hesitantly, nervous and trembling but curious and hopeful, wanting to feel, needing to feel.
He kissed back, even as the tingle in the back of his head told him to stop, stop, not now, not here, stop, Taichi, what are you, no.
"Ewww, check out the fags!"
Taichi swiveled with a terrified jerk. Two of their classmates had meandered back in from the gym, fingers pointed, mouths warped in vindictive sneers.
The other boy stumbled quickly to his feet, face pale. "I'm not a fag! He is! He made me do it!"
All eyes turned to Taichi, his own voice stuck in his throat, even as he tried to speak, tried to call out, tried to take it all back, but it was too late, and now there were more of them in the entrance to the locker room, closing in on him, eyes blaming him, tongues accusing him.
"Fag, fag!"
"Gay little freak!"
"Don't touch me with your homo germs."
Taichi shook his head, but the words still wouldn't form. There were five of them now, standing all around him and laughing. Even the boy from earlier was laughing now, lips pulled back in a smirk.
"Cocksucker. You want cock in your mouth, faggot?"
"Lookit him. Probably has a hard-on already just thinkin' 'bout all'av our cocks."
The boy nearest the front stepped forward, pulling the front of his gym shorts down.
Taichi clenched his eyes shut as a hand yanked back on his hair.
I'm not here I'm not here I'm not here.
I'm no one.
I'm nothing.
I'm a speck.
No one can hurt a speck.
"Taichi."
He was breathing hard, chest aching and throat tender. He squeezed his eyes tighter.
"Taichi, look at me."
He opened the eyes to see his psychiatrist staring at him, her curls bouncing aside her cheeks with every shift of her head. Her eyes were narrowed as they took him in, his hands clasped on his knees and his eyes hidden under gray bags.
"You know what you're doing to your family, don't you?"
He nodded his head.
"You're a shame to your family."
He nodded his head.
"You're a disgusting little boy."
He nodded his head.
"An abomination against God."
He nodded his head again, and this time it plunged into water. All around him, filling up his mouth and nose, as cold as ice. He pulled his head out of the bathtub with a gasp, water dribbling down his chin, down his throat, and he coughed, gagged, choked, sobbed into the water as it continued filling up around him.
Not good enough.
He couldn't even drown himself properly.
He couldn't do anything.
He shoved his head back under the water, lungs tightening as he directed his head towards the running faucet, knives biting into his scalp. He couldn't even feel anymore. His nerves had dulled, numb to the pain, his body shaking and trembling as he gasped beneath the surface and water rushed into his lungs.
Don't hate me.
Please don't hate me.
His world was fading.
For our next act, the disappearing boy. Now you see him, now you don't!
Breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe.
Ladybug, ladybug, fly away home.
He inhaled sharply and the water disappeared, splashing down around him in thick heavy drops that vanished as soon as they hit the floor.
He was back in room 413. Kneeling in the middle of the floor, surrounded by darkness. His hands were clutching his throat, breath hoarse and his eyes bugging out of his head. He licked his lips, rising up slowly, cautiously, heart beating like he'd just run a marathon and his nerves hypersensitive, prickling and buzzing and running with electricity.
The giggle was back, dancing around him, around him, through him, a part of him, right in his chest. There was a whisp of air along the back of his neck as his eyes searched terrified and strained in the shadows around him.
You're more interesting than I thought.
Blood.
He tasted blood on his lips.
He didn't even have to reach a hand up to know that he was bleeding from his nose. The sensation of it gliding down his sweaty skin to balance precariously on his upper lip tickled all the way down to the base of his spine.
I may not be able to keep my promise after all.
Reverend Edmund stood up, one arm to his forehead and wiping away the sweat that had started to form. Sakamoto took a rest from his own work, looking down at the extensive mesh of lines, symbols, circles, and stars that now decorated the carpet.
A circle.
Within a circle.
Within a circle.
Surrounded by four pentagrams.
With a triangle at its peak to seal in the demon.
His eyes were watering. He brought his hands up to wipe at his face, fingers sticky with white paint.
"Good job, Masayuki." Edmund gave him a little smile, indicating the series of symbols he'd just finished transcribing from memory into the fibers of the carpet. "Maybe this is a possible path for you, hm?"
Sakamoto bit down on his lip, the twist in his heart indicating he wasn't yet quite sure how he felt about the comment.
He pushed himself up to his feet, knees and thighs aching as his eyes went towards the door, ears still keen on every little sound.
Or lack of sound.
He'd yet to hear anything from within 413. It was as silent as the grave, and despite his better judgment, he almost wondered if Taichi was even still in the room at all. He let out a shaky breath between his lips as he focused instead on the grain of the door, the surface where their final triangle would need to be painstakingly, carefully, drawn.
"We're almost done with the circle. After that we'll assemble the other requisites and began the bindings. I'll need your help once we get into the sealing process as I'm not sure how much of a fight this beast'll put-"
He stopped.
Sakamoto turned his head away from the door at the abrupt silence.
His eyes bugged out of his head.
Edmund was staring down at his stomach, arms frozen to his side as his breath caught in his throat, a thin, silver pole with jagged edges jutting out from the middle of his gut.
"R-... Reverend...?" Sakamoto's voice quivered, legs like lead and stuck to the floor.
Blood was dribbling down from the hole in the middle of his stomach, staining the front of his cassock as the red stain grew larger and larger. Then he was plunged forward, face first into the middle of the circle and falling with a cascade of dust.
The pole was pulled out of his stomach only to get jabbed in once more, grinding into his flesh again and again as splatters of blood flew up to decorate the walls and surrounding carpet, speckling Sakamoto's face and clothes.
And still he couldn't move.
He could only stare.
It was pushed in one last time with an impish giggle, jerked back and forth to make sure it had passed all the way through his chest cavity, before getting pulled back out almost leisurely, the end of it coated in gleaming red and leaking onto the floor, tattered entrails and flesh gleaming from the reverend's butchered backside.
Nagano smiled, pupils tiny in the whites of his eye sockets. He cocked his head to the side with a laugh.
"Thought I'd brush up my game, you know?" He held what could now be seen more clearly as the snapped-off handle of a golf club in his hands as if he was about to tee-off, giving it a little swing.
"...H-... Hiroshi..." The blood drained from Sakamoto's face as his heart dropped into his stomach, lone blood splatters still dripping down his cheeks.
"You forgot about me, didn't you? Everyone did!" Nagano's lips curled up in a demonic grin as his shoulders shook in mirth. "But Cuttle didn't. Cuttle doesn't forget anyone."
Sakamoto took a step back, shaking his head. "You're not Hiroshi..."
"Ding-dong!" Nagano's eyes widened like two saucers, straining against the sockets. He whipped the golf handle up to rest on his shoulder, spraying blood into the air. "I should have known it wouldn't take you long, what with you being so smart and all. Not so easy to manipulate like the others." He shook his head in amusement. "Even this idiot practically gave me his body in the end." He swept a hand over his torso.
"What the fuck do you want?!" Sakamoto gripped his hands into fists and tried to put on a front of confidence even as his heart beat triple-time in his chest and tears threatened the corners of his eyes.
Nagano stared at him. Through him. Eyes alight with delight. "Oh... you know what I want." He gripped the golf handle like a bat, muscles visibly tight in his arms.
Then he charged.
"What do you want?!" Taichi swiveled back and forth from his spot on the floor, breath caught in back of his throat.
There was no answer.
But the walls.
The walls pulsed.
In out. In out.
It was like they were alive, the sound of it echoing through his head and filling his consciousness. In tune with his own heart. Faster and faster as his breath quickened and choked.
He brought his hands to his head, clenching his eyes shut.
Tune it out tune it out tune it out.
He screamed into the darkness, trying to overtake the sound of those walls pulsating, gyrating, moving in on him. He screamed until his throat burned and his oxygen gave out and all that spilled from his lips was a high-pitched gasp.
He opened his eyes.
He was in bed.
Shaking his head, he blinked, blinked again, the scenery didn't change. He looked down at himself, naked beneath the light blanket, soft light drifting in from the nearby window.
There was someone next to him, still asleep and facing the opposite wall, thin body wrapped up and tangled in the sheets.
"...Shige?" The name barely escaped his lips, trembling as it hit the air. He reached a hand over, atop the other boy's waist, all curved and sloped beneath the crisp sheets, then up to his shoulder, fingers gripping it lightly as he gave him a little shake. "Shige?"
There was a murmur, the slightest of movements, and Taichi felt his heart cry out for the way it cushioned his mind and swelled in his chest.
Please let this be real.
But even as Joshima began to turn towards him, the tingle on the back of his neck was stretching out in all directions, making his nerves twitch and his head scream.
Red.
The Joshima that turned to face him was covered in red.
Taichi recoiled, his heart leaping into his throat and temples pulsing.
The bloody holes carved into Joshima's face were the same as when he'd found him on the bathroom floor, fleshy and jagged and leaking red, so much red, pus and tissue and flesh dribbling down his cheeks, down his nose, dripping from his chin.
"Taichi, what did you do to me?" Joshima's hands were groping towards him, searching, blind as his fingers curled and reached. "Taichi, look what you've done!"
Taichi shook his head, body stiffening as it grew cold with dread. "I-... I didn't... I-..."
Joshima moved further, forcing Taichi back, back, back, his legs caught and tangled in the bed sheets, growing soaked with blood as it continued to pour from the holes in Joshima's face. His skin was bubbling now, the entirety of his face seeming to melt, skin falling, sliding, gushing down the front of his skull.
"Taichi, why did you do this to me?!"
Joshima reached forward with a quick lunge, and Taichi had to jerk backwards to avoid the other boy's hands. He lost his balance on the side of the bed and went tumbling to the floor below, half-wrapped in the sheets as his head and shoulders struck the ground, knocking the wind out of him.
He couldn't breathe for a second.
When he opened his eyes again, the bed was gone.
He was in the middle of a hallway.
It looked like the hallway from the hospital he'd been in the day before. Only empty. And longer. Much longer.
He sat up and glanced around, heart still thumping out of his chest and sweat leaking down the back of his neck. He felt cold. A quick look told him he was still naked, only now there was no sheet, and he was sitting exposed in the middle of the tile.
Laughter.
There was laughter around him.
He couldn't see anyone, but he could hear them. He could feel them. Their gazes as they pointed and laughed and jeered.
His hands went between his legs, trying to cover himself, his head tilted downwards in shame.
The laughter grew louder.
"Look at the gay little freak."
"Poor fag doesn't even know what to do."
"He should just kill himself already and make it easier on everyone."
Get away get away get away.
He pushed himself to his feet, hands still to his crotch as he started stumbling down the hallway.
The voices were so loud he could barely hear anymore.
All around him.
Echoing.
There was a door. He could see it.
Get away get away get away.
It was so loud, his ears were ringing. He was going to go deaf. All around him, through him, in him, knives stabbing at his ears and making his brain buzz.
He half-tripped over to the door, hand wrenching it open as he slipped inside before slamming it shut behind him.
The voices went out.
Silence.
It was dark in the room except for a single lightbulb hanging like a limp sack a few feet away. Beneath the lightbulb was a table, bare except for a lone gun, black metal harsh against his eyes.
He took a step forward, staring down at it in wonder, as if he'd never seen a gun before in his life.
"What's that?"
He didn't do anything for a moment, the voice behind him soft, curious. Then he turned around.
He looked down at his ten-year-old self, eyes big and round and gazing up at him inquisitively.
"Will that make me better?"
Taichi's spit got caught in his throat. He blinked.
And suddenly he was no longer part of the scene, he was watching the scene. He coughed, choked, surrounded by water, pounding at the glass in front of him that was separating him from his body. He shook his head, trying to scream, but the sound of it getting absorbed into the water as it went rushing into his lungs.
The Taichi outside the glass turned back towards the table, picking up the gun and turning it over in his hands.
The Taichi in the glass beat desperately with his fists as his lungs fought against the water gurgling down his throat.
And then the Taichi outside the glass pressed the barrel of the gun between his lips and pulled the trigger. There was an explosion of red and tissuey pink as the back of his head split open and his brains splattered to the floor. His body slumped and crumbled, hitting the ground like a marionette whose strings had been cut.
Taichi screamed, an unearthly bellow that shook his chest as the water pressed in around him.
Then a deep siren reverberated against the glass, stabbing at his head, so loud he couldn't think, so loud he couldn't live, on and on and on and on.
Until the glass broke.
He fell to the floor with a wet splat, his hands to his ears, tearing at his ears, willing the pain away.
The golf handle hit the side of Sakamoto's head.
Hard.
His vision went black for a moment, body numb, and then the pain exploded across his temple, spreading through his skull and knocking his breath away as a noiseless scream formed in his throat.
His legs went out from under him as the force of the blow sent him into the wall. Hands scraping the wood, he tried to keep himself upright, chest tightened in panic.
Stay up stay up stay up.
Eyes wild, he turned back towards Nagano even as his head throbbed and his body screamed at him. He could feel warm blood drizzling down the side of his cheek.
"Feet aren't as fast as your head, hm?"
Nagano was walking towards him, floor creaking under each step as he ground his feet into the reverend's limp body.
Sakamoto grunted and pushed himself away from the wall, back, back, away, away. Nagano's body moved in a strange, jilted fashion, like a doll being manipulated by its owner. The golf handle drug along the ground as he followed after Sakamoto.
Bringing a hand to the side of his head, Sakamoto tried to calm the grating throb that made it hard to think, pressing his fist to his temple. With a little jerk, he took off down the hall, stumbling, tripping over the carpet as his legs refused to function correctly. He made it to the next door down, not even thinking as he tried to wrench it open, but it was locked the same as every other door on the floor, and didn't budge in his grip.
"Where are you going?" Nagano giggled, not even speeding up his pace. "You know you can't go in there."
Sakamoto stepped back from the door, frozen in the middle of the hallway as he searched desperately for something he could use, a way out, an idea, any idea, a method to turn the situation in his favor.
There was nothing besides the dark hallway, the carpet, the walls enclosed around him, the light fading now that they'd started to wander away from the flashlight.
Think think think think think.
Nagano's eyes popped open wide, mouth pulled into a tight line. He raised the golf club above his head and ran forward.
Sakamoto barely had time to dodge, the jagged end missing his throat by centimeters as he tumbled backwards, arms flailing as he fell to the floor. The golf handle slammed into the wall, burying itself into the wood and sticking. Sakamoto took the opportunity to scramble back to his feet and take off down the hallway, breath heavy and screaming in his lungs as he careened into the darkness.
A slam.
He didn't realize it was the sound of his own wind getting knocked out of him until the pain erupted in his stomach. Eyes bulging out of their sockets, he gasped, unable to move, unable to think, body curled around the stair railing he'd just run straight into.
"You should watch where you're going!" Nagano squealed from somewhere behind him. There was a crunch as he pulled the golf club out of the wall.
World spinning, Sakamoto brought his hands up to the railing, fingers grasping it, shaking, trembling, mind trying to decipher up from down as his legs instinctively followed the railing down the first couple of stairs.
Away away away.
He turned his head back the way he'd come.
Nagano was right in front of him.
"Boo."
Another slam.
This time from below.
The golf club rose up from somewhere he couldn't see and thudded into his jaw. Eyes swiveling back in his head, his arms flailed to his either side as he teetered precariously on the steps, suspended in air.
Then he was falling, tumbling, head over heels, crashing into step after step as his body twisted and turned and slammed down the staircase. It came at him from all sides, his body screaming, head unable to keep up with each new onslaught as the edge of each stair bit into his skin, jabbed into his bones. His arm thudded against one of the sharp corners, cutting into the skin and muscle all the way to the bone and forcing a scream from his lips, but his world didn't stop, turning over and over as his head throbbed and pulsed.
He hit the carpet of the third floor.
But he still couldn't comprehend anything. His vision spun, whirled, even when he closed his eyes, his body numb with pain and forcing his spine to curl in on itself, his arms pulled in towards his chest as tears leaked down his cheeks.
"Watch that last step. It's a doozy."
There was the sound of footsteps, noisy and clanking down the stairs.
Get up get up get up.
He tried to ignore the pain, fighting it, even as his stomach churned and his limbs refused to function properly. He pulled himself along the hallway with his hands, leaking blood from his arm and down his chin.
Up up up up.
He stumbled to his feet, tottering from side to side and hitting the wall as his vision rose and fell in waves, spinning around him.
The footsteps behind him stopped.
No.
Just the sound of them on the stairs stopped.
Heart thudding in his ears, he tried to run forward, stagger forward, away away away.
A hand grabbed his shoulder.
He was jerked backwards, slammed into the nearby wall, spine alight with fire. Just as he opened his eyes, he saw the jagged end of the golf club plunge into his chest.
When Taichi next opened his eyes, everything was silent.
Still.
Dark.
He was back in 413, that much was clear. He was no longer wet. The giggle that had been haunting his thoughts was gone. His vision had stopped spinning.
Alone.
He was alone.
He pushed himself to his knees hesitantly, head on a swivel as he glanced around the darkened walls of the room. It was like time had stopped. So quiet he could have heard a pin drop.
Bringing a hand up to his head, he wiped at his eyes, taking his glasses off for a moment before replacing them back on his nose. His head hurt, throbbing just behind his temples. On off. On off. An even pulse.
He let himself fall back off his knees and onto his rear with a thud, leaning forward against his thighs. He shook his head, biting down on his tongue.
What had happened to the visions?
What had happened to the voice dancing just out of sight?
It all seemed like a dream now. Like none of it had even happened. He clenched his eyes shut against the darkness and focused on the even in out, in out of his breath.
"Taichi."
He looked up with a start, heart leaping towards his throat.
"...Shige?"
Joshima was standing in front of him, head cocked to the side in curious inquisition. He was still dressed in his hospital gown, gauze wrapped around his face in heavy layers.
"Shige, what are you doing here?"
Taichi's voice was careful, his eyes narrowed.
Joshima just shook his head with a little sigh. "I came to find you." He took a step forward, hand held out towards Taichi's curled form on the floor. After a moment, Taichi reached up to take it, the other boy's skin warm against his palm as pushed himself to his feet.
"I'm sorry, Shige."
"Hm?" Joshima cocked his head in the other direction, nose twitching. Even beneath the bandages, Taichi could still recognize the expression of befuddlement, bubbles hidden just behind the other's lips.
"For what I did to you."
Joshima smiled at this, giving a little shake of his head.
"It's alright. You couldn't help it."
Taichi blinked, face expressionless.
"You're broken."
The words made him flinch, his eyes twitch, yet they resonated in his chest, a long-lost explanation that he just now fully understood. His eyes fell to the floor, lips pressed together as the words washed over him.
"You're broken, and you've never had anyone there to help piece you back together."
"Broken..."
Joshima took a step forward, his arms coming down softly around Taichi's shoulders as he pulled him in close. "It's ok. We're all searching for the answers."
Taichi felt the warmth of Joshima's chest against his cheek as he stared unblinking, his jaw lax.
It all made sense now.
Why his parents had screamed at him.
Why his friends had made fun of him.
Why everyone had tried to change him.
He was broken.
Joshima's fingers were carding through his hair, calming, soothing, Taichi's heart settling into an even, slow pace.
"There's a way out. A way away from this all."
Joshima's hand stopped, and Taichi's spine popped as he stood up straight.
"A way to get fixed."
"I can be fixed?" Taichi's tongue felt thick and fat in his mouth, his words slurred.
Joshima poked a finger against Taichi's chest, right over his heart. "As long as you believe in yourself."
"Myself..." Taichi brought his hand up to where Joshima's finger was pressed into his skin, twisting his fingers into the fabric of his shirt.
"Only you can make a change."
"Only me..."
Joshima's fingers curled around Taichi's hands with a little squeeze, then lowered it towards his stomach, keeping it pressed against the fabric.
"Change starts from the inside."
"The inside..."
Joshima's other hand lifted up the hem of Taichi's shirt, and soon Taichi felt the soft skin of his stomach against his fingertips, shuddering at the touch.
"Let's fix ourselves."
Joshima leaned forward, words barely whisping past his lips as he pushed Taichi's hand into his gut.
"Hiroshi, I know you're in there!"
Sakamoto's voice cracked, and he let out a strangled gasp as Nagano drove the handle further into his chest, twisting it into his muscle. Blood sputtered out from the fresh hole, staining his shirt and leaking down his chest, splurting upwards at each of Nagano's subsequent jabs.
"Don't be stupid. You think any of him is left in here? I didn't choose him randomly." Nagano grinned, eyes wide and straining as his lips curled upwards. He wrenched the golf handle to the side with a twist, and Sakamoto's knees almost gave out as he clenched his teeth to hold in the scream. "I chose someone I knew I could fill in easily. Somebody without a strong will. Always in the background and tagging along with the rest of the group."
Sakamoto's eyes widened with a shuddered start, pupils dilating. "H-... how long have you-..."
"I knew I wanted him since I caught a glimpse inside his head the first time you touched my door."
It flashed through his head like a knife, the image of Nagano with blood leaking out his nose and ears, the two of them panicking in the middle of the hallway outside room 413.
"I've been leading him here. All I needed to do was get him in a weak enough state. All of you played perfectly into my plan." Nagano wrenched the golf handle to the other side, and Sakamoto gasped, fingers gripping the handle where it had sunk into his flesh, but muscles too weak and shaky to fight back. "He was always envious of you, you know. Masayuki, the smart one. The one with all the ideas. The one with good grades." Nagano twisted the handle and laughed as the sharpened point tore further into Sakamoto's shoulder, another gush of blood leaking down the side. "He wanted to be just like you. Yet you barely even acknowledged him."
"That's not true!" Sakamoto groaned, trying to push up at the force of his words, but only succeeding in driving the handle further through him. His vision swam as salty tears soaked his cheeks and chin, snot leaking down into his mouth.
Nagano just smirked, an amused scoff in the back of his throat. "What the fuck does that matter now? He's gone. And soon you will be too."
Sakamoto bit down on his tongue, breath hoarse. "What. You don't wanna dissect me too? Isn't that what you want? To study our organs?" His voice didn't even sound like his own, coated with phlegm. "That's what this whole goddamn thing is about, isn't it?"
Nagano's head flipped towards the ceiling as he let out a curt laugh, eyes wild. "I thought you were smarter than that, Masayuki. I'm almost disappointed." His eyelids lowered with a dark glower. "Why would I need to see your insides? You're sickeningly normal and boring. Nothing special about you. Now, as for my new friend up in room 413..." Nagano's tongue slipped out between his lips as his grin widened. "...he is a special one."
Sakamoto blanched, the color draining from his face. His hands tightened around the handle of the golf club instinctively, muscles stiffening with a jerk. "B-... but you..."
"It was too good of an opportunity to pass up. Carpe diem and all that, you know." Nagano's tongue slid up to the corner of his mouth, curling with a little twist. "The dissection's already started."
Sakamoto's blood ran cold, and for a moment, the pain in his chest disappeared. "You fucker!" His voice bit out of his throat with a growl as his fingers jammed into the smooth silver of the golf handle, and with an abrupt tug, he yanked it out of his chest. The end of it went straight back into Nagano's forehead, knocking him backwards and sending him into the opposite wall.
Sakamoto didn't even wait. He threw the handle away and only just caught Nagano's body crumpling against the wall before he was racing towards the stairwell, his footsteps echoing around him, through him, a part of him as he charged desperately up the steps. He didn't even know how he was moving, blood leaking from his chest and arm and his head pounding, throbbing, vision pulsing, and muscles only responding on instinct.
He flew out onto the landing of the fourth floor and back to the circle where the reverend's flayed body still simmered in a pool of his own blood. He nearly tripped in his speed, stumbling across the carpet and catching the doorframe between his fingers to keep from crashing to the ground. He couldn't hear, could barely see, his hand shaking as it gripped the handle of the door and wrenched it open.
Taichi.
Taichi, don't be dead.
Dear god, don't be dead.
Sakamoto stopped in the doorway, his heart pounding in his temples as his blood froze.
"Masayuki..."
Taichi was smiling at him.
His grin wide and shaky and his eyes like sunken-in points in the middle of his colorless face.
"...now I can finally be fixed..."
His hands were cupped in front of him.
Intestines hanging off of them like bloody sausages.
"TAICHI."
Sakamoto flung himself towards the other boy who was simply kneeling calmly in the middle of the room.
"Taichi, shit, fuck, oh god, fucking..." Sakamoto could barely see through the water soaking his eyes. Taichi just continued to smile at him, eyes pained and lips trembling, a sticky pool of blood already surrounding him as it pumped out of the gaping hole in his stomach.
"Taichi, fuck, snap out of it." Sakamoto couldn't even think as his hands went to Taichi's, innards soft and slimy between his fingers, all glistening mass of pink and red. Pulling them from Taichi's grip, he began shoving them back in the other's stomach, blood squelching out from the torn skin and flesh and covering his hands as he tried to piece Taichi back together. "No, no, no, no, no, no, no..." Taichi just watched him wordlessly as Sakamoto's hands thrust inside him, pushing the slick pink tubes haphazardly back into his gut.
There was a loud metal clang behind him, and Sakamoto spun around with a jerk, tears and blood flinging off his face and hair.
Nagano was standing in the doorway, having just flung down the golf handle and now holding his stomach as he doubled-over in raucous laughter.
"You're too... you're too..." He brought a finger up to wipe at the tears forming in the corners of his eyes. "You're too late!"
The laughter filled the room, bounced off the walls, circled Sakamoto's head before stabbing at his heart.
"What are you trying to do? You're too late! Don't you get it? Your great plan is ruined!" Nagano stood up straight, his eyes dark as his hands rose to his either side to gesture towards their surroundings. "Everything you did was for nothing. As long as I have this body, I'm free to leave the dorm and continue my experiments around the world. I'll fix them. I'll find a way to fix everyone who's broken. We'll no longer have to live in fear of normal people like you who'd look down on us and lock us away."
Sakamoto's eyes shook in their sockets, his arms still wrist-deep in Taichi's gut as the blood flowed hot against his skin. He turned his head to look at Taichi, still smiling, but the corners of his mouth trembling, his brows furrowed as though about to cry.
"This world is cruel to those who are different, but no one knows how to change them. They try and try, but it's useless, because no one knows the source." Nagano slapped his hand to his chest, eyes sharp and unwavering. "But I'll put a stop to that. I've already found the cause, and all I need now is to study. They'll all come. Everyone will come. They'll come to be fixed. Only I can offer them salvation!" He cocked his head back towards the ceiling, hands splayed to his either side.
Behind Sakamoto, Taichi slumped to the ground, expression unchanging. His head hit the cement with a sharp whack.
Nagano's gaze lowered until he was staring at Taichi, mouth curled into a strangely loving smile.
"War can't be won without sacrifices..."
The air stood still.
Heavy in the darkened room.
Weighing on their shoulders.
And then Sakamoto was to his feet, grabbing the golf handle off the floor before stabbing it through Nagano's gut.
Nagano's eyes bugged out of his head.
For just a moment, time seemed to stand still, Nagano's hands outstretched towards Sakamoto and the sharpened point of the handle stuck deep in Nagano's flesh, and then it sped up, fast-forwarding to reality as Nagano's body flung back with the impact and collided with the wall, Sakamoto shoving the handle clean through his body to bury itself into the wood.
Sakamoto took a shaky step back, his hands now soaked with both Taichi and Nagano's blood and his breath haggard.
Nagano's mouth was frozen, his chest heaving and muscles trembling as his body slumped, pinned to the wall like a fly. Then he coughed, a fleshy, phlegmy jerk of his chest that traveled through his upper body and sent a bubble of blood out between his lips.
Sakamoto wiped at the sweat on his forehead, giving out a cough of his own as Nagano's head cocked to the side, the look of surprise fading away to be replaced with a tired, but almost knowing smile.
"Very nice, Masayuki." Thick clots of blood dribbled down his chin as his lips curled upwards. "But even if you kill him, all it'll do will delay things. I'll find someone else. I've got all the time in the world."
"You've got less time than you think." Sakamoto's voice bit through the darkness, and Nagano's eyes sharpened. "You may have thought you had everything planned out perfectly, but you made one fatal mistake in your calculations." His hand went into the pocket of his jacket, clenching into a fist. "Because you see, Cuttle. I'm anything but normal."
He pulled a rosary out of his pocket, blood dripping down the chain of beads as it dangled from his fingers.
Nagano's eyes widened, straining against their sockets. "Wh-... when did you...?"
"In case anything happens to me, it'll be up to you to stop this thing using any means necessary."
The reverend's face was soft as he said it, but there was a stern sense of resolution in the way his jaw tightened around the words.
"Do you think you can handle that?"
Sakamoto's mouth went dry, but he nodded his head.
"Sorry, did this not work into your plans, Cuttle? You spent too much time focusing on peoples' insides and not enough on what was right in front of your eyes."
Nagano's face darkened, his eyes crazed as his lips curled in a desperate smirk. "Y-... you think you can actually do anything? You're too new. What can a fledgling priest hope to accomplish?"
Sakamoto felt the water pour over his head. It was cold, dripping down his cheeks and neck to splash against the pool of water surrounding his knees.
"I baptize you in the name of the Father..."
Again.
"And of the Son..."
And again.
"And of the Holy Spirit."
The water was dripping down his chin, between his lips.
"The God of power and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ had freed you from sin and brought you to new life through water and the Holy Spirit. He now anoints you with chrism of salvation, so that, united with His people, you may remain forever a member of Christ who is Priest, Prophet and King."
Sakamoto's expression didn't change, his free hand revealing the other object he'd just pulled from his pocket. An object he'd taken from Taichi's jacket not more than thirty seconds prior.
"That's why I have some help."
The green plastic was stained with splotches of red when he opened his hand, a speck of green in a sea of scarlet.
And then he flicked the lighter on.
It roared to life between his fingers, flame dancing and spinning and curling in the air. Sakamoto gripped it tighter, other hand pressed so tightly around the cross of his rosary, the edges of it pierced the skin of his palm as he recited the words he knew by heart.
"I conjure thee, O fire, by him who made thee and all other creatures for good in the world, that thou torment, burn, and consume this spirit, for everlasting. I condemn thee, spirit, because thou art disobedient and obeyest not my commandment, nor keepest the precepts of the Lord thy God, neither wilt thou obey me nor mine invocations."
The flame grew, billowed, ignited into a raging ball simmering in the air above his hand, lighting up the room, scorching the room, heat visible as it exuded from the white hot blaze.
Nagano was frozen in terror, eyes bulging out of their sockets as his body pressed tight against the wall, heat already beginning to melt the skin of his face.
"For which thine averseness and contempt thou art guilty of great disobedience and rebellion, and therefore shall I excommunicate thee, and shall burn thee in the immortal fire and bury thee in immortal oblivion!"
Tendrils of flames erupted from the fiery mass and engulfed the side of the room, Nagano screaming as it tore and scorched and melted the skin right off his bones, all the way through his body to the spirit housed in his soul and incinerating it into boiling vapor.
Sakamoto's body got flung back in the explosion of heat, and he nearly toppled to the ground, sweat running down his forehead and neck as his eyes stared in disbelief at the crackling white flames. Half the room was already lost in the conflagration, boards crackling and popping as the blaze spread along the walls. Nagano's scream still resounded in his ears as his heart pounded and pulsed in his chest, adrenaline rushing through his veins.
He didn't stare long.
Twisting on his heels, he gathered Taichi in his arms, pressing him tight to his chest as he fled the room. The walls had already begun to disintegrate, flames poking through holes in the wood as it spread into the adjacent rooms and sparked into the hallway. Sakamoto's lungs wheezed and gasped for air in the heavy, confining heat as his footsteps took him down the hall, Taichi limp and bleeding in his grip.
He barely made it down the stairs, vision warping and legs only moving on instinct. Narrowly avoiding crashing to the ground once he'd made it to the first floor, he slammed against the nearby wall, stopping for only a second before screaming down the hall towards the main entrance.
The cold night air hit him with a rush when he emerged into the darkness outside, the sound of the building creaking and groaning behind him still resounding in his ears. He limped, stumbled across the path and away from the dorm, fingers clenched in the fabric of Taichi's clothes as the flames started lapping at the windows and staining the night sky.
Get away get away get away.
He didn't stop. Didn't stop until he could barely move anymore, tumbling off the path beside an outcropping of trees and into the wet, dewy grass.
He dropped Taichi to the ground as he fell to his knees, letting out a phlegmy cough, blood speckling his lips as his lungs hacked and moaned. His face felt warm, hot, greasy, hands and clothes stained with blood-his own, Taichi's, Nagano's. Everything rushed to his head as his shoulders started shaking, tears that wouldn't come now flowing freely down his cheeks as his hands clenched at his face.
"...I can hear sirens..."
Sakamoto's back straightened, and he pulled himself back into the moment. There were indeed sirens, faint, but getting louder, echoing in the night air and swirling around them. Taichi's arms were splayed to his either side, head unmoving against the grass, but his eyes cracked open. The gentle rise and fall of his chest made the bloodied pink of the hole in his gut glisten in the light of the nearby lamp post.
"Taichi..." Sakamoto crawled over to him, pulling him up into his lap. "See? You're gonna be fine. They'll come and... fix you right up..."
Taichi blinked, staring up at the cloudy sky above them. His face had already lost its color, a dull, sickly greenish gray, and his lips were turning blue. He opened his mouth to say something, then shut it again, wordless.
"Just hold on a little longer..." Sakamoto tightened his grip around him, the dull ache of the hole in his chest nothing compared to the empty pain jabbing at his heart like a knife.
The sirens were louder now, long and biting at his ear drums.
"Take care of Shige for me... ok?"
Sakamoto parted his lips to retaliate, to tell him there was no need for that, that everything would be fine and soon both of them would be safe and warm in the hospital.
But instead.
He let out a shuddered sigh.
His voice softened by the way his throat tightened and stung.
"...I will."
By the time the fire engines and ambulances and police cars had Wicker surrounded and fire hoses were aimed in every window, Taichi was gone.
Part Seven