((Kimberly Nguyen continued from Bloodgarden))
Kimberly wasn't used to running. Fuck sprinting. Her lungs were burning, her thighs aching. They'd thrown Brook off, it seemed. She wasn't sure how far they'd gotten. They were still in the woods, still somewhere relatively close to the sea. They'd finally stopped. Kimberly immediately released Dutchy's hand. They stood for a brief moment. She wasn't focusing on him, just panting. She could feel her heartbeat slowing, her breathing returning to normal.
There was no time to waste. She had some fucking pressing questions for Dutchy.
"So," she said, taking a couple of breaths, then spitting off to the side, clearing her mouth of excess saliva. "What the fuck happened to land you with a gun in your mouth? Sarah and Bridget give up on their plan to magic up a dragon to whisk us all away? Where are they, anyways?"
That was the important part. Kimberly was going to find them, and she was going to give Dutchy back to them and politely inform them that if they ever ditched a teammate again she'd find them, slash those tendons that they needed to walk, and force them to beg the people they'd left behind to carry them out of a danger zone. That seemed about like justice right now.
It was one thing for Kimberly to walk out on the group. She'd been pretty fucking upfront and honest about that whole thing. She'd never played it any way but straight with them all. She hadn't needed them, and they hadn't needed her. They'd decided they didn't give a shit about her priorities, and she'd felt the same about theirs.
It was different with Dutchy. He couldn't hold together on his own. He was as helpless as they'd treated Kimberly. That he was still alive was something of a miracle.
He hadn't responded to her questions yet. Kimberly glanced over at him.
She froze completely.
A White and Soundless Place
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MurderWeasel
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Little Boy†
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((Dutchy Ayers continued from Bloodgarden))
He couldn't catch his breath. He felt like he was going to faint- he'd never run this hard in his life. Dutchy's heart was leaping from his chest, his mind running over his terrible encounter over and over in his mind, on some dreadful forced loop. He needed to slow down, but Kimberly wasn't letting go of his hand. The forest raced by in a blur of green. He couldn't take it. He needed a rest. He needed to stop-
Just as he thought he'd past the brink, Kimberly began to slow, to a light jog and then a full stop. Dutchy gulped in air, struggling to catch his breath.
"So, what the fuck happened to land you with a gun in your mouth? Sarah and Bridget give up on their plan to magic up a dragon and whisk us all away?"
Dutchy leaned forward, letting out a cough. He wanted to say something- but he wasn't sure what. A hug would have been a better course of action, but he wasn't exactly sure how Kimberly would react. He coughed again, looking up at Kimberly, blinking away any remaining tears.
Where could he begin? She'd saved him. She'd saved his life.
"Where are they anyways?"
He swallowed, looking around the clearing. There was no sign of the boy. It was almost too good to believe. Kimberly- she'd saved his life. Nothing he could do would ever be enough to repay her. His mind was clear- the images of the boy, the insane sadistic monster.. were finally pushed away. He couldn't exactly understand why. Everything was finally focused- it was-
No. It wasn't focused. The world was blurry. Dutchy swallowed again- What- Why-
He was a soccer player. He wasn't lazy, he wasn't out of shape. He swallowed again, his breathing shallow and forced. Something was wrong. He couldn't breath right. It was as if something was pushing the air out of his chest prematurely, before he'd even had- he-
Blurry. So very blurry. He could hardly see Kimberly. That was strange. Was it sun stroke? Had he not drank enough water? He needed to lie down. He felt bad- Kimmy had asked him a question. She deserved an answer.
He couldn't thank her enough. He could practically kiss the girl, she was just- The boy. The boy was gone, and that was good. He didn't want to remember it, but he knew it'd stick with him. But for now, it was alright.
Dutchy felt an odd sensation run through him. His shirt was sticky with sweat, damp and sticking to his skin. He was panting now, and more then a little nervous. This had never happened before- maybe it was sun stroke. Maybe he just needed to lie down for a little...
With a growing sense of dread, Dutchy reached his hand down, behind his back. His vision blurred in and out, and he felt light headed- as if- he-
he- he just- he'd-
Dutchy pressed his hand against his lower back, right above his right hip. It was soaking wet. He swallowed hard, that feeling of dread returning.
That's odd.
His breathing became more constricted. He was shaking now, he realized. Something- something- why was he so- Dutchy pulled his right hand away, and saw the blood on his hand. He felt fear shoot through him, and his legs began to wobble. It wasn't fair. It wasn't possible.
No. No no no, it's – it's not me. It's just water. I fell. I just fell is all.
"I fell in a puddle..." he mumbled.
Dutchy was falling sideways, the ground rushing up to meet him. For a split second beforehand he saw Kimberly, her face frozen in time, a look of- fear? Sadness? Surprise? One of those. He hoped she'd be okay. He didn't want to upset Kimberly, she was so nice and she- she didn't- something- something like-
Dutchy collapsed.
He couldn't catch his breath. He felt like he was going to faint- he'd never run this hard in his life. Dutchy's heart was leaping from his chest, his mind running over his terrible encounter over and over in his mind, on some dreadful forced loop. He needed to slow down, but Kimberly wasn't letting go of his hand. The forest raced by in a blur of green. He couldn't take it. He needed a rest. He needed to stop-
Just as he thought he'd past the brink, Kimberly began to slow, to a light jog and then a full stop. Dutchy gulped in air, struggling to catch his breath.
"So, what the fuck happened to land you with a gun in your mouth? Sarah and Bridget give up on their plan to magic up a dragon and whisk us all away?"
Dutchy leaned forward, letting out a cough. He wanted to say something- but he wasn't sure what. A hug would have been a better course of action, but he wasn't exactly sure how Kimberly would react. He coughed again, looking up at Kimberly, blinking away any remaining tears.
Where could he begin? She'd saved him. She'd saved his life.
"Where are they anyways?"
He swallowed, looking around the clearing. There was no sign of the boy. It was almost too good to believe. Kimberly- she'd saved his life. Nothing he could do would ever be enough to repay her. His mind was clear- the images of the boy, the insane sadistic monster.. were finally pushed away. He couldn't exactly understand why. Everything was finally focused- it was-
No. It wasn't focused. The world was blurry. Dutchy swallowed again- What- Why-
He was a soccer player. He wasn't lazy, he wasn't out of shape. He swallowed again, his breathing shallow and forced. Something was wrong. He couldn't breath right. It was as if something was pushing the air out of his chest prematurely, before he'd even had- he-
Blurry. So very blurry. He could hardly see Kimberly. That was strange. Was it sun stroke? Had he not drank enough water? He needed to lie down. He felt bad- Kimmy had asked him a question. She deserved an answer.
He couldn't thank her enough. He could practically kiss the girl, she was just- The boy. The boy was gone, and that was good. He didn't want to remember it, but he knew it'd stick with him. But for now, it was alright.
Dutchy felt an odd sensation run through him. His shirt was sticky with sweat, damp and sticking to his skin. He was panting now, and more then a little nervous. This had never happened before- maybe it was sun stroke. Maybe he just needed to lie down for a little...
With a growing sense of dread, Dutchy reached his hand down, behind his back. His vision blurred in and out, and he felt light headed- as if- he-
he- he just- he'd-
Dutchy pressed his hand against his lower back, right above his right hip. It was soaking wet. He swallowed hard, that feeling of dread returning.
That's odd.
His breathing became more constricted. He was shaking now, he realized. Something- something- why was he so- Dutchy pulled his right hand away, and saw the blood on his hand. He felt fear shoot through him, and his legs began to wobble. It wasn't fair. It wasn't possible.
No. No no no, it's – it's not me. It's just water. I fell. I just fell is all.
"I fell in a puddle..." he mumbled.
Dutchy was falling sideways, the ground rushing up to meet him. For a split second beforehand he saw Kimberly, her face frozen in time, a look of- fear? Sadness? Surprise? One of those. He hoped she'd be okay. He didn't want to upset Kimberly, she was so nice and she- she didn't- something- something like-
Dutchy collapsed.
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MurderWeasel
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Dutchy mumbled something. She didn't hear what. Didn't need to. She saw his hand. Saw the blood. Saw him fall. It clicked into place. The gunshot had missed Kimberly. She'd thought nothing further of it. She'd assumed that everything would be fine. It should've been fine. Dutchy should've been fine. Of everyone she'd met on the island, he was probably the one who most deserved a happy ending. He—fuck, who was she kidding? He wasn't her favorite person she'd spent time with. That dubious honor went to Aislyn or Rhory. He still didn't deserve this, though. Not after they'd come so close.
She ran to him, knelt next to him. It felt weird. Wrong, somehow. What the fuck was up with the world when Kimberly was the only person here to comfort Dutchy? She was the group bitch, the skeptic who abandoned the rest to their fates.
She was the only one here. Sarah and Bridget and Roland were gone.
Kimberly choked back her rage. There would be time for that later. Plenty of it. For the moment, she had amends to make. She put her hand out, touched Dutchy on the shoulder, gave him a little shake.
"Dutchy?"
She didn't know if was going to die. Quite possibly he was. Kimberly's optimism had sustained a mortal wound before she even encountered Dutchy. Didn't matter. He didn't deserve this. That was all that was important.
"Hey, Dutchy," she said, giving him another little shake. She could see the blood leaking from him. "Hey, look at me. Come here."
It was awkward. Kimberly wasn't exactly strong before a week of malnutrition, and she was still using only her right arm. Still, with a couple grunts of effort, she managed to lift Dutchy a bit, to get his head in her lap. She didn't know what she was doing. She had no fucking experience tending the wounded. She hoped Dutchy was going to be a better patient than she had been. There weren't any good rocks around here, at least.
It was hopeless. She didn't know medicine. All she could offer was companionship.
She ran her hand through his hair. It felt strange to touch someone without ulterior motives. Everything felt cold. She was afraid for some reason. She was hurting.
She couldn't do anything about this. She could just sit here and wait to see what happened.
It dimly occurred to her that Dutchy had run off when she'd been shot.
She didn't give a fuck about that, though. Not now.
She ran to him, knelt next to him. It felt weird. Wrong, somehow. What the fuck was up with the world when Kimberly was the only person here to comfort Dutchy? She was the group bitch, the skeptic who abandoned the rest to their fates.
She was the only one here. Sarah and Bridget and Roland were gone.
Kimberly choked back her rage. There would be time for that later. Plenty of it. For the moment, she had amends to make. She put her hand out, touched Dutchy on the shoulder, gave him a little shake.
"Dutchy?"
She didn't know if was going to die. Quite possibly he was. Kimberly's optimism had sustained a mortal wound before she even encountered Dutchy. Didn't matter. He didn't deserve this. That was all that was important.
"Hey, Dutchy," she said, giving him another little shake. She could see the blood leaking from him. "Hey, look at me. Come here."
It was awkward. Kimberly wasn't exactly strong before a week of malnutrition, and she was still using only her right arm. Still, with a couple grunts of effort, she managed to lift Dutchy a bit, to get his head in her lap. She didn't know what she was doing. She had no fucking experience tending the wounded. She hoped Dutchy was going to be a better patient than she had been. There weren't any good rocks around here, at least.
It was hopeless. She didn't know medicine. All she could offer was companionship.
She ran her hand through his hair. It felt strange to touch someone without ulterior motives. Everything felt cold. She was afraid for some reason. She was hurting.
She couldn't do anything about this. She could just sit here and wait to see what happened.
It dimly occurred to her that Dutchy had run off when she'd been shot.
She didn't give a fuck about that, though. Not now.
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Little Boy†
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Dutchy couldn't believe how cold it was. It seemed as if a storm had arisen suddenly, and the temperature felt like it was steadily dropping with every passing minute. He felt strange, his movement slowed, his reactions delayed.
He realized what was happening, and he was afraid.
"No.. no no no..."
Kimberly had pulled him up, although he couldn't quite recall how or why she would do it. He was lying with his head in her lap, her slender fingers running through his hair. He was breathing fast, every last reserve of terror inside him building up, spilling out. He was crying again. But he was always crying now. A chill passed down his spine.
"Hey, Dutchy." There was a shake on his arm. "Hey, look at me. Come here."
Dutchy looked up toward Kim, his face ashen, his fear and dread easy to see.
"Kimmy..." He breathed, struggling to keep control, to avoid screaming and crying incoherently. "Kimmy, I don' wanna go. No, no,- I'm sorry. I didn't mean it before, I really didn't. I don't wanna go, not now. I thought it would- but- but I don't want to die. I don't want to die."
It wasn't as if his words would do him any good. His heart was beating fast, and his entire back felt damp. Dutchy raised a trembling hand, his blood still wet and sticking to his palm.
"It wasn't- it's just water. I fell in a puddle. Please, I won't ask for anything else, ever. I fell in a puddle. That's all that happened. That's why I'm s-so-"
His words devolved into senseless mumbling. Slowly he turned, burying his red face in Kimberly's knee. There was little pain. There was discomfort, but not like he'd expected. He supposed he should have felt relief, but the fear overwhelmed it. It was a dull pain, a slow burn. Not the sharp jolts the boy had delivered, not like the mirror. He tried to speak again, but between the sobs and attempting to catch his breath, he couldn't get anything out. Not that he had much to say anyways.
Dutchy closed his eyes, his breathing shallow. This was it. He had no idea how long- he'd avoided violence for most of his life. It wasn't like he could make a reasonable estimate. A few minutes, maybe an hour left? He had no idea how bad it was, but it was enough. He knew that much.
It was unfair. He couldn't understand it. If he was nice to someone, if he treated them with respect, with affection and friendship, it would be returned. That was how the world had always worked. But Danya had changed everything and destroyed everything he'd ever believed in- all so casually. The good people were dying everywhere, and the rest were becoming the villains. All because- because why? Why was this happening? What was the purpose? Dutchy just didn't understand. If you committed evil, you'd be punished for it. That's what had always happened in the comics. Superman had always beaten Lex Luthor, good had always triumphed in the end. But now, the only way to triumph was to be the bad guy. Maybe that was the purpose?
He didn't think so. He didn't think there was much of a meaning. It existed, and that was that. There was no use over thinking it.
Maybe Danya had just needed a hug. It was a ridiculous idea, but he didn't bother to chastise himself for thinking it. In his dreamy half awakened state, he just couldn't muster enough energy for self-hatred. He supposed it was the only good thing about dying. He couldn't hate himself anymore.
Maybe he shouldn't have insulted Danya. Maybe if he'd treated him as less of a bad guy- maybe. Dutchy dreamed on, his mind filled with scenarios where his plan had actually meant something, where his classmates were still alive and didn't know what it was like to watch a friend die. He didn't know how long he laid there, his head in Kimberly's lap, his eyes closed. He doubted he'd ever open his eyes again.
Time ticked on. He felt sleepy, and he knew it would all end soon. He was still afraid, and he knew he'd go out screaming and crying unless he did something. But it was hopeless. He couldn't give hope to anyone. He'd died, he hadn't stopped Danya, and he hadn't saved his friends. Everything he'd ever done, in the end it wouldn't matter to anyone. What words of comfort could he give to Kim? To his family who were watching back home? They'd wasted 18 years raising him. Now they'd see him die, and feel pain and sorrow with every mention of his name.
I failed. I'm a failure. I've cried like a baby, I've gotten others to protect me so I could spend more time crying like a baby. And- and now- now-
It was getting harder to think. Fear surged up through him. He'd spent his entire run making wishes, "I wish we escaped", "I wish I wouldn't cry", "I wish I could die", "I wish I could save them", "I wish I wasn't dying"... Just once he wanted one to come true.
"I don't want it to die afraid."
Dutchy flashed back to that first day, oh so long ago. Kimmy, lying in the sand, the others crowded around her. He'd run away, from the blood, from the game. He was weak and he couldn't help anyone. He'd puked and he'd cried, and he'd felt ashamed at having puked and cried. And more importantly, he'd dunked his head right then and there into the surf, the cold waves all around him.
Cold... Like a shower- with my clothes on.
He'd wanted to end it then, although he'd never told a soul. A quick tug at the collar under the water, maybe drinking great gulps of ocean water... He'd struggled to stay up, but he was always two steps behind the others, ruled by his emotions, afraid for everyone, afraid of everything...
He saw an island, far away in the distance. Dutchy wasn't sure why he was in the water again, and why it was so cold. He could feel the chill cutting right through him. But he'd suffered through worse, when he couldn't recall, but he had... Now that he thought about it, he couldn't recall much of anything. He guessed he'd better start swimming; the island was ever so far away.
Dutchy swam through the water, the island approaching ever so slowly. It didn't look like an island at all from this far out, more like an impressionist painting, a very pretty one. It was a beautiful view. His father- his father had once taken him up to a mountain top. What had it been called? He couldn't recall. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
Dutchy thought back to the last island. So many years ago- He'd been so scared back then. He'd struggled the entire way, heck, his friends had to carry him the entire way. It had changed him.
Not so bad though, He suddenly thought. He paused in mid-stroke, considering the notion, the cold waves lapping around him.
No... It was bad. But- but it wasn't ALL bad. Vera and Roland, they've never been better friends. Bridget and Sarah, they wouldn't be together if it weren't for that place. And Lillian and Roland haven't fought at all since that terrible week- and Paige and Jacob are going to get married. And- and- And Kimmy has a scar, but it's all right because she's fine and she likes scars! And Brendan came back, and he brought the whole army with him to save us, and Kris, well, she was a little sad sometimes, but she's got her skateboard again, and that's all she ever wanted!
And- and because that happened- because that happened – I don't cry anymore. I never cry anymore, because Danya was taken away, and he said he was sorry for everything. They even gave us all medals. And, well, John Paul II forgave his enemies, so I can too. I can too, and that's a pretty brave thing to do. I spent that entire time running scared, b-but in the end I turned out the best. Because we all go through it togeth- together. And that means I'm not scared. And I'm not afraid anymore, because- because that island- it's Iceland. And I've always wanted to go to Iceland.
He was cutting through the water now, faster then ever before. He was really amazed, he never knew he could swim this fast. It was cold, and he was shaking all over. But he knew he'd make it. It was just a feeling, but sometimes that was all he needed.
Iceland! And- and Sarah said she'd always wanted to go to Iceland, and well first thing after we got out of there, me and Roland went and bought the tickets. We had a big party back in the gymnasium, everyone was hugging and everyone was so h- h-ha- happy. And- and I just- I- they're all there. Right now, I just swim and I can make it.
I can really make it.
He couldn't believe it. The island was looming ever closer, and he could make out tiny houses dotting the coast. Vestmannaeyjar! That was where he'd been born! He'd never been home before, but they knew all about him! Everyone in Vestmannaeyjar knew about Dutchy. He was the local hero, all his parents friends had been watching him, watching his entire class finally beat Danya, finally make it out alive. Heimaey..., that was the town his family came from! He saw it clearly now, the bright blue sky hanging overhead, nary a cloud to be seen. It was beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.
Everything had turned out alright. He- he didn't feel afraid anymore. Dutchy wondered why he was thinking that, it was preposterous. Why would he ever be afraid again? He hadn't been afraid since- since back then. He was nearly there! He didn't feel afraid. He was excited, he was proud and he was happy.
"Kimmy, it's really something. You'll- you'll love this place!"
He didn't exactly know why he was calling out to Kimberly. She wasn't in the ocean, now was she? But he did anyway, and he felt glad. It was strange. It was close now. A few more strokes, a few more minutes. Dutchy closed his eyes and dipped below the surface.
Whoops!
Dutchy swallowed water, but he came up, coughing to clear his throat. He suddenly felt very heavy. It hadn't been a good idea to go swimming in clothes, now had it? But it didn't matter. He plodded along, every stroke becoming more difficult then the last. His limbs were heavy, unresponsive. He went below again, popping up and spitting out water. Why was it so difficult all the sudden? He didn't have a cramp, did he?
He was panting now, and suddenly, the island seemed farther away. Now that wasn't fair at all. He'd struggled so hard, was the current pulling him out to sea?
Drawing in one final gulp of air, Dutchy sank below the surface.
Floating, he was floating now. Water rushed around him, and everything was cold. He looked around. Sunlight was above him, illuminating the water around. His limbs were dead weight. Dutchy felt himself descend slowly, sinking deeper down. He couldn't hold his breath much longer- his lungs were burning for fresh air.
He supposed he should have felt panic. He supposed he should have felt fear or felt like crying- but there was nothing. There had been nothing for a long time, but that was just fine with him. He didn't have to be afraid anymore. In the end he hadn't cried. Why should he cry now?
Struggling with all his might, Dutchy kicked out, performing a breaststroke. He opened his mouth, feeling the seawater fill his lungs. He kicked again, pushing up towards the surface with all his strength, even as he sank deeper down, into the dark.
It didn't matter.
He'd reach his destination, somehow.
B139 - Ayers, Örn "Dutchy" - DECEASED
He realized what was happening, and he was afraid.
"No.. no no no..."
Kimberly had pulled him up, although he couldn't quite recall how or why she would do it. He was lying with his head in her lap, her slender fingers running through his hair. He was breathing fast, every last reserve of terror inside him building up, spilling out. He was crying again. But he was always crying now. A chill passed down his spine.
"Hey, Dutchy." There was a shake on his arm. "Hey, look at me. Come here."
Dutchy looked up toward Kim, his face ashen, his fear and dread easy to see.
"Kimmy..." He breathed, struggling to keep control, to avoid screaming and crying incoherently. "Kimmy, I don' wanna go. No, no,- I'm sorry. I didn't mean it before, I really didn't. I don't wanna go, not now. I thought it would- but- but I don't want to die. I don't want to die."
It wasn't as if his words would do him any good. His heart was beating fast, and his entire back felt damp. Dutchy raised a trembling hand, his blood still wet and sticking to his palm.
"It wasn't- it's just water. I fell in a puddle. Please, I won't ask for anything else, ever. I fell in a puddle. That's all that happened. That's why I'm s-so-"
His words devolved into senseless mumbling. Slowly he turned, burying his red face in Kimberly's knee. There was little pain. There was discomfort, but not like he'd expected. He supposed he should have felt relief, but the fear overwhelmed it. It was a dull pain, a slow burn. Not the sharp jolts the boy had delivered, not like the mirror. He tried to speak again, but between the sobs and attempting to catch his breath, he couldn't get anything out. Not that he had much to say anyways.
Dutchy closed his eyes, his breathing shallow. This was it. He had no idea how long- he'd avoided violence for most of his life. It wasn't like he could make a reasonable estimate. A few minutes, maybe an hour left? He had no idea how bad it was, but it was enough. He knew that much.
It was unfair. He couldn't understand it. If he was nice to someone, if he treated them with respect, with affection and friendship, it would be returned. That was how the world had always worked. But Danya had changed everything and destroyed everything he'd ever believed in- all so casually. The good people were dying everywhere, and the rest were becoming the villains. All because- because why? Why was this happening? What was the purpose? Dutchy just didn't understand. If you committed evil, you'd be punished for it. That's what had always happened in the comics. Superman had always beaten Lex Luthor, good had always triumphed in the end. But now, the only way to triumph was to be the bad guy. Maybe that was the purpose?
He didn't think so. He didn't think there was much of a meaning. It existed, and that was that. There was no use over thinking it.
Maybe Danya had just needed a hug. It was a ridiculous idea, but he didn't bother to chastise himself for thinking it. In his dreamy half awakened state, he just couldn't muster enough energy for self-hatred. He supposed it was the only good thing about dying. He couldn't hate himself anymore.
Maybe he shouldn't have insulted Danya. Maybe if he'd treated him as less of a bad guy- maybe. Dutchy dreamed on, his mind filled with scenarios where his plan had actually meant something, where his classmates were still alive and didn't know what it was like to watch a friend die. He didn't know how long he laid there, his head in Kimberly's lap, his eyes closed. He doubted he'd ever open his eyes again.
Time ticked on. He felt sleepy, and he knew it would all end soon. He was still afraid, and he knew he'd go out screaming and crying unless he did something. But it was hopeless. He couldn't give hope to anyone. He'd died, he hadn't stopped Danya, and he hadn't saved his friends. Everything he'd ever done, in the end it wouldn't matter to anyone. What words of comfort could he give to Kim? To his family who were watching back home? They'd wasted 18 years raising him. Now they'd see him die, and feel pain and sorrow with every mention of his name.
I failed. I'm a failure. I've cried like a baby, I've gotten others to protect me so I could spend more time crying like a baby. And- and now- now-
It was getting harder to think. Fear surged up through him. He'd spent his entire run making wishes, "I wish we escaped", "I wish I wouldn't cry", "I wish I could die", "I wish I could save them", "I wish I wasn't dying"... Just once he wanted one to come true.
"I don't want it to die afraid."
Dutchy flashed back to that first day, oh so long ago. Kimmy, lying in the sand, the others crowded around her. He'd run away, from the blood, from the game. He was weak and he couldn't help anyone. He'd puked and he'd cried, and he'd felt ashamed at having puked and cried. And more importantly, he'd dunked his head right then and there into the surf, the cold waves all around him.
Cold... Like a shower- with my clothes on.
He'd wanted to end it then, although he'd never told a soul. A quick tug at the collar under the water, maybe drinking great gulps of ocean water... He'd struggled to stay up, but he was always two steps behind the others, ruled by his emotions, afraid for everyone, afraid of everything...
He saw an island, far away in the distance. Dutchy wasn't sure why he was in the water again, and why it was so cold. He could feel the chill cutting right through him. But he'd suffered through worse, when he couldn't recall, but he had... Now that he thought about it, he couldn't recall much of anything. He guessed he'd better start swimming; the island was ever so far away.
Dutchy swam through the water, the island approaching ever so slowly. It didn't look like an island at all from this far out, more like an impressionist painting, a very pretty one. It was a beautiful view. His father- his father had once taken him up to a mountain top. What had it been called? He couldn't recall. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
Dutchy thought back to the last island. So many years ago- He'd been so scared back then. He'd struggled the entire way, heck, his friends had to carry him the entire way. It had changed him.
Not so bad though, He suddenly thought. He paused in mid-stroke, considering the notion, the cold waves lapping around him.
No... It was bad. But- but it wasn't ALL bad. Vera and Roland, they've never been better friends. Bridget and Sarah, they wouldn't be together if it weren't for that place. And Lillian and Roland haven't fought at all since that terrible week- and Paige and Jacob are going to get married. And- and- And Kimmy has a scar, but it's all right because she's fine and she likes scars! And Brendan came back, and he brought the whole army with him to save us, and Kris, well, she was a little sad sometimes, but she's got her skateboard again, and that's all she ever wanted!
And- and because that happened- because that happened – I don't cry anymore. I never cry anymore, because Danya was taken away, and he said he was sorry for everything. They even gave us all medals. And, well, John Paul II forgave his enemies, so I can too. I can too, and that's a pretty brave thing to do. I spent that entire time running scared, b-but in the end I turned out the best. Because we all go through it togeth- together. And that means I'm not scared. And I'm not afraid anymore, because- because that island- it's Iceland. And I've always wanted to go to Iceland.
He was cutting through the water now, faster then ever before. He was really amazed, he never knew he could swim this fast. It was cold, and he was shaking all over. But he knew he'd make it. It was just a feeling, but sometimes that was all he needed.
Iceland! And- and Sarah said she'd always wanted to go to Iceland, and well first thing after we got out of there, me and Roland went and bought the tickets. We had a big party back in the gymnasium, everyone was hugging and everyone was so h- h-ha- happy. And- and I just- I- they're all there. Right now, I just swim and I can make it.
I can really make it.
He couldn't believe it. The island was looming ever closer, and he could make out tiny houses dotting the coast. Vestmannaeyjar! That was where he'd been born! He'd never been home before, but they knew all about him! Everyone in Vestmannaeyjar knew about Dutchy. He was the local hero, all his parents friends had been watching him, watching his entire class finally beat Danya, finally make it out alive. Heimaey..., that was the town his family came from! He saw it clearly now, the bright blue sky hanging overhead, nary a cloud to be seen. It was beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.
Everything had turned out alright. He- he didn't feel afraid anymore. Dutchy wondered why he was thinking that, it was preposterous. Why would he ever be afraid again? He hadn't been afraid since- since back then. He was nearly there! He didn't feel afraid. He was excited, he was proud and he was happy.
"Kimmy, it's really something. You'll- you'll love this place!"
He didn't exactly know why he was calling out to Kimberly. She wasn't in the ocean, now was she? But he did anyway, and he felt glad. It was strange. It was close now. A few more strokes, a few more minutes. Dutchy closed his eyes and dipped below the surface.
Whoops!
Dutchy swallowed water, but he came up, coughing to clear his throat. He suddenly felt very heavy. It hadn't been a good idea to go swimming in clothes, now had it? But it didn't matter. He plodded along, every stroke becoming more difficult then the last. His limbs were heavy, unresponsive. He went below again, popping up and spitting out water. Why was it so difficult all the sudden? He didn't have a cramp, did he?
He was panting now, and suddenly, the island seemed farther away. Now that wasn't fair at all. He'd struggled so hard, was the current pulling him out to sea?
Drawing in one final gulp of air, Dutchy sank below the surface.
Floating, he was floating now. Water rushed around him, and everything was cold. He looked around. Sunlight was above him, illuminating the water around. His limbs were dead weight. Dutchy felt himself descend slowly, sinking deeper down. He couldn't hold his breath much longer- his lungs were burning for fresh air.
He supposed he should have felt panic. He supposed he should have felt fear or felt like crying- but there was nothing. There had been nothing for a long time, but that was just fine with him. He didn't have to be afraid anymore. In the end he hadn't cried. Why should he cry now?
Struggling with all his might, Dutchy kicked out, performing a breaststroke. He opened his mouth, feeling the seawater fill his lungs. He kicked again, pushing up towards the surface with all his strength, even as he sank deeper down, into the dark.
It didn't matter.
He'd reach his destination, somehow.
B139 - Ayers, Örn "Dutchy" - DECEASED
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MurderWeasel
- Posts: 2566
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
Kimberly just sat, cradling Dutchy's head in her lap. He'd stopped moving, stopped breathing some time ago. He was gone. He wasn't Dutchy anymore.
This wasn't supposed to hurt.
He'd looked so scared, at least at the start. She wondered if that had been how she'd looked, back on the beach. It was pure chance that she'd recovered, that she'd walked away from that. It was all too easy to see herself there, lying in Sarah's lap, eyes glazed, thoughts gone. She adjusted her glasses.
Dutchy was dead. No hiding from that. Things were feeling pretty damn grim all of a sudden. Kimberly didn't care. Fuck it, she could swing grim. She could deal with this. She could hold herself together, just like she'd been doing.
She had a new mission, though. A new task ahead of her. Something that just might edge out fucking over Kris on her list of priorities. Someone was responsible for this. Someone had directly caused the chain of events that led to Kimberly sitting on the forest floor, running her fingers through Dutchy's hair, sniffling back tears, her pants soaked through with his blood. Someone had, probably offhand, fucked up her life in this very special way.
There was only one solution.
Make them pay.
Kimberly had learned early in her time here that nothing took the edge off hurt quite like anger. Now that Dutchy was gone, she could stop fucking kidding herself about lectures and poetic justice and shit like that. The world wasn't nice enough for that storybook garbage. No, she'd take out all the stops. Someone had killed Dutchy. Someone had hurt her badly.
That someone was not Brook.
Yeah, sure, he'd held the fucking gun, fired the fucking bullet, but he was a rabid dog, just waiting to be put down. Someone else would take care of that. Brook was a nobody, another psycho on an island of psychos. Sure, if Kimberly just happened to stumble into him on a pleasant stroll, she'd probably cut his tongue out and make him swallow it, but only on principle. The real issue was the condition Dutchy had been in in the first place, that is to say, the fact that he was alone and without any of his belongings. Someone had fucked things up real bad for that to come about.
The obvious suspects were his friends.
Sarah. Bridget. Roland.
Kimberly had trusted them. She'd thought they were all going to die, but there was a difference between everyone dying in some fucking stupid heroic last stand and everyone splintering and getting picked off one by one like panicked ants under a mean kid's magnifying glass.
There would be answers. Kimberly would figure out who'd made mistakes.
Of course, perhaps she was being too hasty. Perhaps some external force had shattered the group.
If Sarah and Bridget couldn't tell her that, though, then god help them.
Time to go.
Kimberly leaned down, her lips barely an inch from Dutchy's cold ear.
"You were dreaming, Dutchy," she whispered. "I never left at all.
"Go back to sleep."
She lifted his head off of her lap. It was something of a challenge to do one-handed, now that she wasn't burning on adrenaline. That done, she lay him gently upon the ground. She didn't bother arranging him in any particularly respectful position. Brook had ruined that sort of thing for her. Dutchy was dead. He wouldn't feel any better if she tried to pretty that up.
She felt tired. Hurt. Defeated. It infuriated her.
She'd sleep in there somewhere. For now, she was heading back to town. She had a house call to make.
You saved my life, Sarah.
But if you got him killed, I'm going to make you wish you'd let me bleed out.
((Kimberly Nguyen continued in Where Have All the Flowers Gone?))
This wasn't supposed to hurt.
He'd looked so scared, at least at the start. She wondered if that had been how she'd looked, back on the beach. It was pure chance that she'd recovered, that she'd walked away from that. It was all too easy to see herself there, lying in Sarah's lap, eyes glazed, thoughts gone. She adjusted her glasses.
Dutchy was dead. No hiding from that. Things were feeling pretty damn grim all of a sudden. Kimberly didn't care. Fuck it, she could swing grim. She could deal with this. She could hold herself together, just like she'd been doing.
She had a new mission, though. A new task ahead of her. Something that just might edge out fucking over Kris on her list of priorities. Someone was responsible for this. Someone had directly caused the chain of events that led to Kimberly sitting on the forest floor, running her fingers through Dutchy's hair, sniffling back tears, her pants soaked through with his blood. Someone had, probably offhand, fucked up her life in this very special way.
There was only one solution.
Make them pay.
Kimberly had learned early in her time here that nothing took the edge off hurt quite like anger. Now that Dutchy was gone, she could stop fucking kidding herself about lectures and poetic justice and shit like that. The world wasn't nice enough for that storybook garbage. No, she'd take out all the stops. Someone had killed Dutchy. Someone had hurt her badly.
That someone was not Brook.
Yeah, sure, he'd held the fucking gun, fired the fucking bullet, but he was a rabid dog, just waiting to be put down. Someone else would take care of that. Brook was a nobody, another psycho on an island of psychos. Sure, if Kimberly just happened to stumble into him on a pleasant stroll, she'd probably cut his tongue out and make him swallow it, but only on principle. The real issue was the condition Dutchy had been in in the first place, that is to say, the fact that he was alone and without any of his belongings. Someone had fucked things up real bad for that to come about.
The obvious suspects were his friends.
Sarah. Bridget. Roland.
Kimberly had trusted them. She'd thought they were all going to die, but there was a difference between everyone dying in some fucking stupid heroic last stand and everyone splintering and getting picked off one by one like panicked ants under a mean kid's magnifying glass.
There would be answers. Kimberly would figure out who'd made mistakes.
Of course, perhaps she was being too hasty. Perhaps some external force had shattered the group.
If Sarah and Bridget couldn't tell her that, though, then god help them.
Time to go.
Kimberly leaned down, her lips barely an inch from Dutchy's cold ear.
"You were dreaming, Dutchy," she whispered. "I never left at all.
"Go back to sleep."
She lifted his head off of her lap. It was something of a challenge to do one-handed, now that she wasn't burning on adrenaline. That done, she lay him gently upon the ground. She didn't bother arranging him in any particularly respectful position. Brook had ruined that sort of thing for her. Dutchy was dead. He wouldn't feel any better if she tried to pretty that up.
She felt tired. Hurt. Defeated. It infuriated her.
She'd sleep in there somewhere. For now, she was heading back to town. She had a house call to make.
You saved my life, Sarah.
But if you got him killed, I'm going to make you wish you'd let me bleed out.
((Kimberly Nguyen continued in Where Have All the Flowers Gone?))
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MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
The heavy and tactless footsteps of another living, breathing person drew close. Breaths became drawn in an area that knew only how to be a sanctuary for the dead, and thus seemed unaccustomed to such a visitor. Dutchy had been left alone with the forest as his only company, but it didn't have to be that way forever... right?
Of course it didn't have to be this way. His savior and retriever had finally come, and the sight of the poor, departed boy drew a smile across the face of Bayview's prodigal gardener, Liam Brooks. "... Hey, finally found you. How's it going?" Brook uttered softly, lowering the gun that he had in his hands; it wasn't polite to be unnecessarily brandishing a weapon over the dead, it felt. Well, there was that little detail, and the fact that carrying Dutchy would be a bitch while holding a gun.
Stashing the weapon away in the largest pocket of his pants, Brook gave yet another chuckle and lifted the thankfully light boy off the ground, slinging him over both shoulders. The edges of the collar around Brook's own throat felt a bit less than pleasant, but such was a price to pay for never going back on one's word. ... Something of a pain in the ass, really.
"Well, come on, you. There's somebody who's just been absolutely dying to... ... well, the pun doesn't really work in this situation, now does it? Heh... silly Brook."
And the area was deserted once more, this time entirely.
((Liam "Brook" Brooks, having left and returning to Bloodgarden))
Of course it didn't have to be this way. His savior and retriever had finally come, and the sight of the poor, departed boy drew a smile across the face of Bayview's prodigal gardener, Liam Brooks. "... Hey, finally found you. How's it going?" Brook uttered softly, lowering the gun that he had in his hands; it wasn't polite to be unnecessarily brandishing a weapon over the dead, it felt. Well, there was that little detail, and the fact that carrying Dutchy would be a bitch while holding a gun.
Stashing the weapon away in the largest pocket of his pants, Brook gave yet another chuckle and lifted the thankfully light boy off the ground, slinging him over both shoulders. The edges of the collar around Brook's own throat felt a bit less than pleasant, but such was a price to pay for never going back on one's word. ... Something of a pain in the ass, really.
"Well, come on, you. There's somebody who's just been absolutely dying to... ... well, the pun doesn't really work in this situation, now does it? Heh... silly Brook."
And the area was deserted once more, this time entirely.
((Liam "Brook" Brooks, having left and returning to Bloodgarden))