How long she sat there, on the bathroom floor with her dead friend bleeding into her lap, she didn't know. Her head was sunk so low her neck ached with it, but she couldn't bear to move. Steph's face dwarfed her inner horizon. Her pretty face was bruised, swollen, and bloody. Her split lips were slightly parted, like she was still trying to speak. Her glassy eyes still stared blankly. Daria kept searching those eyes for some sign of life. For some hope of a miracle.
She searched for a long time.
I had almost given up, you know?
Blaise's voice kept whispering. Daria traced one trembling hand down the curve of Steph's jaw, like she would a boyfriend or a girlfriend, to tickle them or draw their attention. And Steph did not move.
The things I have done, they are not for you. I would hate to get you caught up in something.
Slowly, Daria shook her head. Slowly, she eased herself out from under Steph, and tried to stand. Her legs had fallen asleep, and she almost fell over as she stood, and she almost tripped over Steph, and she almost threw up as her whole body convulsed with grief and shame and disgust. Tears burned in her eyes.
We all play, Daria. The game moves on without note for protest. I will make you an offer as well. When you can't do this anymore. When you are ready to lose. Find me. I will make it peaceful.
Daria closed her eyes, shook her head again. She did not want to cry again.
Deep breaths. In. Out. Smell the blood. Smell the death. You knew the stakes of this game from the beginning. You knew the stakes the first time you woke up in this house. You knew the stakes when Carrie died, and when Tony passed, and when you cried downstairs before you saw Blaise. You thought she could be saved.
You said it, this, this monster, he put the guns to our heads. So if I pull the trigger enough times...no. I will not win. But I may walk away with something, and we will all die anyway so, so what is the harm? It's all on him. Not me. Right?
The pins and needles in her legs faded back a little. Daria opened her eyes, and stared down at Steph's face again.
No. Not at Steph's face. At the face of her corpse.
Victory was never an option for you and me.
One more breath, in and out. Then Daria moved. Slowly, gingerly, dreamily, she stepped over Steph's corpse. Slowly, gingerly, dreamily, she picked her way through the house. They had really settled in here, the last few days. Even with everything Daria had gathered, ready for her mission of peace out into the Island, there was plenty to find. Steph's stuff. Her stuff. The little knick-knacks and comforts they'd set up in their placid serenity. The fake garden they'd made, where they'd pretended they wouldn't die. She gathered everything together just outside the bathroom, carefully choosing and discarding what would come with her, until she'd packed a back near to bursting with all their gathered items-including the nail-laden bat she'd struck Blaise with (swung, fell).
Whose tune would i dance to? Yours? Mine? Or Danya's?
When she was sure there was nothing left to pack, she pulled an old sheet from the closet, and carefully wrapped Stephanie's body in it, swaddling her as though she were a baby. Her arms and back strained when she lifted her corpse into the air, and strained again when she lowered her gently into the tub, only her face exposed, glassy eyes still staring into space.
She stripped off her blood-stained clothes, and dug out the last clean clothes she'd brought with her on the long-forgotten trip that had preceded this nightmare--loose, functional jeans and one final pair of plain white underwear. For her top, she raided the closet for a man's red flannel shirt. When she stepped back into the bathroom, she ook a moment to look at herself in the bathroom mirror. Lumberjack, wild-haired woman, with eyes that burned with something like madness.
In the reflection, high up in one corner, she spied a camera.
Why do you speak to the cameras?
"I'm a coward," Daria said--the first words she'd spoken, since before Steph had died. "I'm a coward, pretending I'm brave." She glanced at Steph's body, slumped and lifeless. "Decided...I was gonna die. Decided that meant I wasn't gonna play. Decided...that was enough."
You must have heard. I, there have been so many, I kept telling myself I had no choice but it was wearing hollow, I was going to...but I heard you first.
"You kept saying her name," Daria said. "Blaise's name, I mean. Over and over. Before I really started talking to you. After, too. You said it this morning, but I had my...story. Making a place of peace. Finding people to join me. Telling people what this game was..."
You're so right. It's all his fault.
"Thirty of us left?" Daria asked. "S'what you said, right? Thirty, out of...how many? How many of us were on that trip? How many have you killed?"
Daria's voice was hoarse, and her eyes burned, but she would not let herself cry. That time was past.
"This world's a rotten place, Danyuh. But you're one of the most rotten fuckers in it. You and your friends. What's the point of this, Danyuh? What are you trying to prove?" Her voice shook. "Or maybe there's no point. Maybe you sick fucks just...enjoy this." She managed a trembling laugh. "At this point, I might...I might almost prefer that. Make you proper fucking monsters. I can't imagine there could be anything human in any of you."
They were all his fault. The rest will be too.
"Or in her."
Daria shook her head slowly. "Blaise. Quinn. They're only playing because you gave them the chance. You took the leash off of'em. This all goes back to you. Every death. Every tragedy. You're the source. You're...cancerous, Danyuh. Cancerous like...like I didn't know anyone could be. You're a malignancy in the soul."
"Carrie was right, though. They aren't human anymore. Monsters in their eyes. Is that the plan? You need more demons, so you make'em out of us? Only way to get what you..."
She was rambling. She was shaking. She was so close to sobbing. She was so tired. She was so afraid. She looked at Steph again, and it felt like her heart was cracking. Steph, who she'd barely known; Steph, who'd lost the woman she loved; Steph, who had taken the burden of this game from Daria's shoulders and kept it off of her, who had supported her mad plan to make a place of peace.
Steph, who had screamed for Daria to save her, and had died all the same.
Daria closed her eyes, and breathed. In. Out.
"I wanted peace," she said, eyes still closed. "I wanted to save people. Not their bodies, but their souls. We're all gonna die anyways, right?"
"But some of those souls can't be saved."
She opened her eyes again. She didn't recognize the woman looking at her in the mirror. Not the soul behind her eyes.
"No more peace," Daria said softly. "I'm out for justice. For Blaise. And for you." She turned away from the mirror, glared at the camera. "I'm coming for you. You and every monster you've made. You and all your friends. You're going to get what you deserve."
She looked away from the camera, and knelt besides the path tub. She ran another finger down Steph's jawline, then leaned forward and kissed her friend's corpse on the forehead. Then she closed her eyelids, grabbed a hanging section of sheet, and wrapped it around Steph's face.
She went to the door to the bathroom. She shouldered her pack. She hefted her bat. She paused for just a moment, looking not at the corpse but up into the sky.
"I'm not gonna cry again, Steph," Daria said. "But they will."
(Daria Bhatia continued in
ali bomaye)