Alex had been off today. Jaime didn't put him out on patrol much, as his leg still hadn't recovered entirely, despite the injury being months old now. There was still a tiny limp when he walked, and it was even worse when he ran, but he refused to let himself get out of shape. Especially here, in light of the circumstances that he found himself in constantly. Besides, exercise was supposed to strengthen the muscle that'd been torn open
( ... )
A small branch breaking underfoot was the only signal Alex had that he might not be alone out there. The fog seemed to seep away from what was standing about three feet in front of him on the other side of Claire, clearing a path in some absurdly strange way.
The ratty tennis shoes were revealed first, gone grey as their colour had been leeched away. Skin that had once been the fishbelly white of the drowned was now grey with age, nearly matching the cargo shorts that were wrinkled now, watermarked by time. The shirt had lost some of its tint as well, the symbol on it still clear. Dead glassy eyes gazed without mercy at Alex Shepherd, the dead thing's algae stained lips set in a line.
From Josh's right hand, a ring on a string dangled.
It stared at Alex a moment longer before it turned away and headed back into the fog. Small footprints were on the snow for another few paces, but they stopped then as if the thing had merely vanished.
"Fuck, no! Claire! Fuck! Wake up! For fuck's sake, wake up!"
No one was around to hear him. Just like no one had been around to hear her scream. Only the ghost of a little boy standing in the fog.
Claire was cold in Alex’s grasp, her body flopping like a rag doll. She was still easy to move, meaning it hadn’t been very long at all. In his arms, her body moved awkwardly, broken bones and shattered joints refusing to follow a normal range of motion. One hand, should he notice it, was grasped closed. The edges of a piece of paper poked up between her fingers.
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The ratty tennis shoes were revealed first, gone grey as their colour had been leeched away. Skin that had once been the fishbelly white of the drowned was now grey with age, nearly matching the cargo shorts that were wrinkled now, watermarked by time. The shirt had lost some of its tint as well, the symbol on it still clear. Dead glassy eyes gazed without mercy at Alex Shepherd, the dead thing's algae stained lips set in a line.
From Josh's right hand, a ring on a string dangled.
It stared at Alex a moment longer before it turned away and headed back into the fog. Small footprints were on the snow for another few paces, but they stopped then as if the thing had merely vanished.
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No one was around to hear him. Just like no one had been around to hear her scream. Only the ghost of a little boy standing in the fog.
Claire was cold in Alex’s grasp, her body flopping like a rag doll. She was still easy to move, meaning it hadn’t been very long at all. In his arms, her body moved awkwardly, broken bones and shattered joints refusing to follow a normal range of motion. One hand, should he notice it, was grasped closed. The edges of a piece of paper poked up between her fingers.
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