She could just shoot him.
She could get him, get revenge.
So why couldn't she do it?
She never really wanted to kill. She knew that. But she was so scared and sad and angry and god knows what else. Was she really going to shoot after all?
But she wasn't a natural killer. Was she? She always saw herself as an innocent, someone who would never hurt someone else. She wasn't Maxwell Lombardi or Madelaine Smith or R.J. Lowe or Rachel Gettys or Nick Reid or Quincy Jones or Alex Rasputin. She was Anna Chase, right? But what then defined Anna Chase? She was here, pointing a crossbow at Marty's murderer.
Anna.
Anna.
He was saying her name.
She was going to hell, he said. She was going to be damned if she ever pulled that trigger. Was she? No, she was already in hell. That sounded like something "Pandora" would say, but there you go. Did it even look like she was having a fun time? Did it look like she was safe? Did she look like someone who wasn't suffering?
Of course not.
She was already in hell. Did he seriously think that she hadn't suffered already?! That was what the definition of hell was. Suffering. Anna Chase was suffering.
It all sounded melodramatic, but there it was. The truth. She wasn't happy. Far from it.
"N..." she had attempted to speak. "Ni..."
Say something, girl.
But she couldn't. Nothing could come out.
Her hands were still shaking. She could get him, right on the spot. If she stayed steady... if she got rid of that thing known as a conscience... then Nick would... well, he wouldn't be standing anymore. She would have avenged Marty and defended herself, right? She would live for another day. She wasn't sure if she was ever going to go home, but she'd live for another day. That was what was important.
But she couldn't. She couldn't fire. She was unable to. Her finger kept faintly touching the trigger, but she couldn't pull. She couldn't do it.
And suddenly Chase lowered the crossbow.
She... wouldn't.
And without any warning signs, she found herself making a choked sob. There was nothing she could do to prevent herself from crying. All of her emotions were flooding out like a leak in a dam, right at that moment. No, crying wasn't going to help. Nick might find an opportunity to get her. He was using her emotions against her. Damn it. She didn't want to get emotional.
But here she was, sobbing like a child in some fairground on some deserted island and holding a crossbow. She was... pathetic. But she had to live, right? That's one of the main things she wanted. She wasn't sure what reasons she felt she had to live, but the desire was there. But... but... oh hell, what "buts" were there?
Later, Buddy
Private Thread
-
Rattlesnake
- Posts: 255
- Joined: Tue Aug 28, 2018 12:51 am
Nick had pulled out the big guns. Called her by her first name. Maybe she'd see him as a person again and not a murderer, see herself as a regular highschooler, realize that they were classmates and that classmates didn't bicker and argue over who had killed who. That she, in essence, was contemplating murder. He didn't know what she was really thinking, just as his own mind remained locked against a betrayal of intention that would get him killed.
Whatever had done it, she ended their standoff suddenly by lowering her weapon. Relief washed over him, and the nagging flame of doubt died off completely. He'd done it again, survived another standoff. The whole thing had taken, what, a couple minutes? In less time than it took to walk all the way across the fair, he'd been attacked, fought back, pleaded for his life, gained it in kind. But then, just at the moment of victory, right when Nick thought that maybe he'd finally managed to keep something under control, she did the worst thing possible.
She started crying.
It's a painful thing, trying to keep one's face impassive when a million years of human nature want to twist it into a pretzel. Brow twitching, nose running, jaw knotted, teeth fit to shatter under the power of his quivering bite. Eyes clouding up - that was the worst part. He wouldn't cry. He never cried. Not if he wasn't alone. He never let anyone know how he felt if he didn't want to. That was the only certainty in the world, his hidden strength, the very last thing in the world he could count on. He didn't smile. He didn't frown. But a hundred sparking tells lit his face like Christmas.
He cleared his throat. Swallowed. Pondered his next move.
...clean job...
...nothing left for her...
...so small and vulnerable...
...doing her a favor...
He turned around to look at Marty. What used to be Marty. Not Marty. Just a thing now. A broken doll lying in a pool of blood still warm and spreading. So peaceful and yet so profane. A dead classmate - a killer. Frozen in time - halted in a murderous charge. Clutching one last link to the world in its unmoving hand - a dagger of some sort. Nick bent smoothly down and took the cold metal in his hand. Pulling it free, he found himself starting suddenly when a dead finger brushed against his. It was silly, really, jumping like that. He was no stranger to corpses now, but he much preferred to touch them while they were still alive...
He turned back to Chase, stepping towards her. Haltingly at first, and then more quickly. Still a half-dozen paces away, he halted.
Run now.
Go for it!
...
He took half a stuttering step, and then no more. He couldn't do it. Not without - not good reason. He had good reason. He had plenty of reason. It would be the biggest favor he could ever pay. Quick, painl-not needlessly painful. Just a quick stab, and she'd have no more reason to cry. She wouldn't be scared and lost and lonely any more, no more standing there crying in front of him just like Jennifer had.
Jennifer...
He wondered what she was doing, how she was faring, what she'd think of the next morning's announcement. Would she be angry? Accepting? Forgiving? Caring? Lov- Would she even talk to him again? She was an angel, he'd said so himself in that awkward little note with the misplaced comma. She'd diagnosed, correctly, that the last time they'd met he was suffering a terminal case of just needing a freaking hug, and now things were just getting worse.
Nick sighed softly. There he was. He was "player." A "villain," maybe. People were trying to kill him, and he was killing back. Five so far. Five. Most people in prison for life had done less than him. And he was staring at the thousandth person who'd wanted to do him in, just thinking about a hug. Failure seemed to be the only option, but he'd gone in far too deep. There was no recourse now, really. There was murder in his future. Just... just not right now.
She had to die. She was going to die. There was no way around that, because he couldn't figure out what Liz had done and he couldn't replicate it now with Danya watching, and if he wasn't going to make it off that way he was going to tear through the competition until he was the only one left. Which meant that she was standing in the way of his winning. Which meant that if he didn't kill her now, someone else would. Someone far more bloody-minded and far less competent. She ran through his mind pursued by a pack of wolves. Ripping, tearing, gnawing while she was screaming and screaming...
He shouldered his pack, slipped the jutte into his pocket, and began to walk away.
"Anna, um, if-should we meet again, I, I think I guess I'll owe you one."
Will I ever.
((Nick Reid continued in Bait and Switch))
Whatever had done it, she ended their standoff suddenly by lowering her weapon. Relief washed over him, and the nagging flame of doubt died off completely. He'd done it again, survived another standoff. The whole thing had taken, what, a couple minutes? In less time than it took to walk all the way across the fair, he'd been attacked, fought back, pleaded for his life, gained it in kind. But then, just at the moment of victory, right when Nick thought that maybe he'd finally managed to keep something under control, she did the worst thing possible.
She started crying.
It's a painful thing, trying to keep one's face impassive when a million years of human nature want to twist it into a pretzel. Brow twitching, nose running, jaw knotted, teeth fit to shatter under the power of his quivering bite. Eyes clouding up - that was the worst part. He wouldn't cry. He never cried. Not if he wasn't alone. He never let anyone know how he felt if he didn't want to. That was the only certainty in the world, his hidden strength, the very last thing in the world he could count on. He didn't smile. He didn't frown. But a hundred sparking tells lit his face like Christmas.
He cleared his throat. Swallowed. Pondered his next move.
...clean job...
...nothing left for her...
...so small and vulnerable...
...doing her a favor...
He turned around to look at Marty. What used to be Marty. Not Marty. Just a thing now. A broken doll lying in a pool of blood still warm and spreading. So peaceful and yet so profane. A dead classmate - a killer. Frozen in time - halted in a murderous charge. Clutching one last link to the world in its unmoving hand - a dagger of some sort. Nick bent smoothly down and took the cold metal in his hand. Pulling it free, he found himself starting suddenly when a dead finger brushed against his. It was silly, really, jumping like that. He was no stranger to corpses now, but he much preferred to touch them while they were still alive...
He turned back to Chase, stepping towards her. Haltingly at first, and then more quickly. Still a half-dozen paces away, he halted.
Run now.
Go for it!
...
He took half a stuttering step, and then no more. He couldn't do it. Not without - not good reason. He had good reason. He had plenty of reason. It would be the biggest favor he could ever pay. Quick, painl-not needlessly painful. Just a quick stab, and she'd have no more reason to cry. She wouldn't be scared and lost and lonely any more, no more standing there crying in front of him just like Jennifer had.
Jennifer...
He wondered what she was doing, how she was faring, what she'd think of the next morning's announcement. Would she be angry? Accepting? Forgiving? Caring? Lov- Would she even talk to him again? She was an angel, he'd said so himself in that awkward little note with the misplaced comma. She'd diagnosed, correctly, that the last time they'd met he was suffering a terminal case of just needing a freaking hug, and now things were just getting worse.
Nick sighed softly. There he was. He was "player." A "villain," maybe. People were trying to kill him, and he was killing back. Five so far. Five. Most people in prison for life had done less than him. And he was staring at the thousandth person who'd wanted to do him in, just thinking about a hug. Failure seemed to be the only option, but he'd gone in far too deep. There was no recourse now, really. There was murder in his future. Just... just not right now.
She had to die. She was going to die. There was no way around that, because he couldn't figure out what Liz had done and he couldn't replicate it now with Danya watching, and if he wasn't going to make it off that way he was going to tear through the competition until he was the only one left. Which meant that she was standing in the way of his winning. Which meant that if he didn't kill her now, someone else would. Someone far more bloody-minded and far less competent. She ran through his mind pursued by a pack of wolves. Ripping, tearing, gnawing while she was screaming and screaming...
He shouldered his pack, slipped the jutte into his pocket, and began to walk away.
"Anna, um, if-should we meet again, I, I think I guess I'll owe you one."
Will I ever.
((Nick Reid continued in Bait and Switch))
The sobs kept coming.
She couldn't stop. She wanted to stop, but she couldn't. She wasn't sure if they'd ever stop.
She... she... she... she wanted to go home. For all this to end. For her not to suffer anymore. For no more people to die. She could keep wishing, but in the end, she knew that wasn't the case.
For Anna Chase, everything had gone to shit.
The crossbow slipped from her fingers, landing to the ground with a gentle thud.
She was distantly aware of Nick by this point, acting as if he wanted to approach her, but he seemed to hesitate and remained where he was. Well, he was a fucking killer, wasn't he? Why was he stalling? He had a perfect shot at her, but she was still standing. But she didn't want to die. She just wanted to know... he had no reason to hesitate and attack her, didn't he?
He mentioned something about owing her one, and....
He left.
Chase stared at him as he disappeared, the tears still pouring down her face.
What was there to do?
She was stuck here. This place continued to give her the creeps. She might get robbed again. Or something else might happen.
Slumping to the ground, she let out another burst of sobs, burying her face in her gloved hands.
This... this wasn't what she wanted. But what did she want? Well, for starters, no death. Absolutely no fucking death. In the past, Anna Chase wouldn't have said that, and would have jokingly made a comment about "more death". But not anymore.
No more death. No more death. No more fucking DEATH.
She hated Nick, and R.J., and Madeline Smith, and Quincy, and god knew who else. She hated everyone. Some part of her wished that they'd all go away. For all this shit to go away. She hated them, hated them!
For several more minutes Chase continued to melt down, her sobs loudly continuing.
Once they stopped, Chase stared at the ground, with her crossbow and bag nearby and what was left of Marty still on the ground, beginning to become cold.
She still didn't know what to do.
Her reddened eyes began to focus on Marty's corpse.
Suddenly, she began to wonder. Why did he run out like that? Nick wasn't threatening him directly. Heck, he was talking to her, not him. And it wasn't as if he would fight for her, right? She wasn't the kind of person people fought for. She had learned that a long time ago, with Kitty and What's-His-Face. It would be silly to think that he would die for her!
The best thing for him, though, was to not leave him out in the open. Give him a proper burial or cremation or something. But what could she do about it? There were no ways to dig a hole around, and although she kind of sort of knew how to make a fire, she had no clue how to make one big enough for cremation.
She... might as well at least look. That might as well be the thing to do right now.
Chase stood up, and grabbing her crossbow and her bag, began to investigate. As she approached the carousel, she couldn't help but notice that Joshua's body was gone. She would have given him something decent as well, but-
Was that a shovel?
She quickly scampered towards it.
Yup, a shovel. And not only that, but a grave-sized hole. There appeared to be a filled-up hole, as well. Another grave? Must be. She hadn't noticed it before, that was for certain. Both of them couldn't had been dug while all that was happening, could it?
Then she remembered. Marty! A hole had already been dug! Of course! Maybe it was reserved for someone else, but it could do nicely for him!
She placed her bag and crossbow on the carousel, and just as she turned to go get Marty, she hesitated. Blurred images of Gracie attacking her filled her mind, of being grabbed by the hair, of being dragged away while someone who could help couldn't... she stood there for almost a few minute, reliving the memory.
It wasn't that far to carry him over, was it? Maybe if she just placed the bag and crossbow... right inside one of the carriage/bench parts and under the seat? That could... actually work, or at least not make her freak out and much.
So she promptly did so, and went off to grab Marty.
As she approached, she actually got a proper look at him. His eyes had glazed over, staring off into nothing. What was his last thoughts, she couldn't help but wonder again. What provoked him?
Chase sighed. Might as well take him to his grave, then.
She grabbed him by his legs, and tried her best to drag him over. It took some difficulty considering the differences in size, but in the end, she had managed it. Chase slid his body into the hole, but suddenly she got an idea. He had that knife!
Running back over to where the fight had taken place, she didn't find it. Dang. It sounded silly, but she had wanted to bury it with him... and so she went back.
Now came the hard part; burying him.
Chase took a deep breath, and grabbed the shovel.
Any last words for him?
She couldn't think of any. But after a while, only one came up.
"... See you soon."
And with that, Marty disappeared under the dirt.
Once she was finished, she placed herself on the carousel, holding her knees to her chest and her head bowed.
She had been all cried out, but she still felt upset. Add in the exhaustion from the walking and from filling the hole, and needless to say she didn't feel so good. Chase knew it was inevitable, that she'd see death again. But it still hurt. Dawne, Jon, Rekka, Ben, Michelle, Joshua, Marty. They weren't coming back. She knew for a fact. Still didn't mean it didn't hurt, though.
She might as well head out, then.
Grabbing her things from under the seat, she turned to leave, only to notice the shovel. Hey, one of those could actually be useful in the long run, now that she thought of it. But, she then remembered how her back had hurt from just the crossbow, the crowbar, and the gun. A shovel would be worse, would it? She had to make a choice, then; leave behind the crossbow, leave behind the crowbar, or leave behind the shovel. A crossbow had the advantage of being long-range. A crowbar had the advantage of being a bludgeon. A shovel had an advantage of also being a bludgeon, as well as things like what she had just been doing...
She had made her choice.
Placing the bag back on the ground, she slid out the crowbar, and tried to figure out what to do with it. Maybe stash it around here, so if she needed a weapon she could come back and find it? But what if someone found it? What if someone used it badly?
She wouldn't let that happen.
Chase had placed it in under the carriage parts of the carousel again, the exact same place as before. She hoped no one would notice it. If she needed a new weapon, though, she could always come back, right?
She grabbed the shovel, placed the crossbow in her bag as well as she could, and started to leave. However, she came to a horrifying realization once she was at the entrance.
Marty had Joshua and that crush of his die. She had seen how earlier he had tried to kill himself by busting a camera, only to be stopped. This was before Joshua had been killed. After he had died, she had found a full grave and an empty grave, with Joshua no where in sight. This after he ran directly in front of Nick. There was a possibility that the filled grave had Joshua in it and the empty grave was for...
Marty had wanted to die back there.
She didn't want to dwell on it.
And there was no telling that if she knew the whole picture, she'd react any better.
She just had to go.
((Anna Chase continued in Sweet Dreams Are Made Of This))
((End of thread))
She couldn't stop. She wanted to stop, but she couldn't. She wasn't sure if they'd ever stop.
She... she... she... she wanted to go home. For all this to end. For her not to suffer anymore. For no more people to die. She could keep wishing, but in the end, she knew that wasn't the case.
For Anna Chase, everything had gone to shit.
The crossbow slipped from her fingers, landing to the ground with a gentle thud.
She was distantly aware of Nick by this point, acting as if he wanted to approach her, but he seemed to hesitate and remained where he was. Well, he was a fucking killer, wasn't he? Why was he stalling? He had a perfect shot at her, but she was still standing. But she didn't want to die. She just wanted to know... he had no reason to hesitate and attack her, didn't he?
He mentioned something about owing her one, and....
He left.
Chase stared at him as he disappeared, the tears still pouring down her face.
What was there to do?
She was stuck here. This place continued to give her the creeps. She might get robbed again. Or something else might happen.
Slumping to the ground, she let out another burst of sobs, burying her face in her gloved hands.
This... this wasn't what she wanted. But what did she want? Well, for starters, no death. Absolutely no fucking death. In the past, Anna Chase wouldn't have said that, and would have jokingly made a comment about "more death". But not anymore.
No more death. No more death. No more fucking DEATH.
She hated Nick, and R.J., and Madeline Smith, and Quincy, and god knew who else. She hated everyone. Some part of her wished that they'd all go away. For all this shit to go away. She hated them, hated them!
For several more minutes Chase continued to melt down, her sobs loudly continuing.
Once they stopped, Chase stared at the ground, with her crossbow and bag nearby and what was left of Marty still on the ground, beginning to become cold.
She still didn't know what to do.
Her reddened eyes began to focus on Marty's corpse.
Suddenly, she began to wonder. Why did he run out like that? Nick wasn't threatening him directly. Heck, he was talking to her, not him. And it wasn't as if he would fight for her, right? She wasn't the kind of person people fought for. She had learned that a long time ago, with Kitty and What's-His-Face. It would be silly to think that he would die for her!
The best thing for him, though, was to not leave him out in the open. Give him a proper burial or cremation or something. But what could she do about it? There were no ways to dig a hole around, and although she kind of sort of knew how to make a fire, she had no clue how to make one big enough for cremation.
She... might as well at least look. That might as well be the thing to do right now.
Chase stood up, and grabbing her crossbow and her bag, began to investigate. As she approached the carousel, she couldn't help but notice that Joshua's body was gone. She would have given him something decent as well, but-
Was that a shovel?
She quickly scampered towards it.
Yup, a shovel. And not only that, but a grave-sized hole. There appeared to be a filled-up hole, as well. Another grave? Must be. She hadn't noticed it before, that was for certain. Both of them couldn't had been dug while all that was happening, could it?
Then she remembered. Marty! A hole had already been dug! Of course! Maybe it was reserved for someone else, but it could do nicely for him!
She placed her bag and crossbow on the carousel, and just as she turned to go get Marty, she hesitated. Blurred images of Gracie attacking her filled her mind, of being grabbed by the hair, of being dragged away while someone who could help couldn't... she stood there for almost a few minute, reliving the memory.
It wasn't that far to carry him over, was it? Maybe if she just placed the bag and crossbow... right inside one of the carriage/bench parts and under the seat? That could... actually work, or at least not make her freak out and much.
So she promptly did so, and went off to grab Marty.
As she approached, she actually got a proper look at him. His eyes had glazed over, staring off into nothing. What was his last thoughts, she couldn't help but wonder again. What provoked him?
Chase sighed. Might as well take him to his grave, then.
She grabbed him by his legs, and tried her best to drag him over. It took some difficulty considering the differences in size, but in the end, she had managed it. Chase slid his body into the hole, but suddenly she got an idea. He had that knife!
Running back over to where the fight had taken place, she didn't find it. Dang. It sounded silly, but she had wanted to bury it with him... and so she went back.
Now came the hard part; burying him.
Chase took a deep breath, and grabbed the shovel.
Any last words for him?
She couldn't think of any. But after a while, only one came up.
"... See you soon."
And with that, Marty disappeared under the dirt.
Once she was finished, she placed herself on the carousel, holding her knees to her chest and her head bowed.
She had been all cried out, but she still felt upset. Add in the exhaustion from the walking and from filling the hole, and needless to say she didn't feel so good. Chase knew it was inevitable, that she'd see death again. But it still hurt. Dawne, Jon, Rekka, Ben, Michelle, Joshua, Marty. They weren't coming back. She knew for a fact. Still didn't mean it didn't hurt, though.
She might as well head out, then.
Grabbing her things from under the seat, she turned to leave, only to notice the shovel. Hey, one of those could actually be useful in the long run, now that she thought of it. But, she then remembered how her back had hurt from just the crossbow, the crowbar, and the gun. A shovel would be worse, would it? She had to make a choice, then; leave behind the crossbow, leave behind the crowbar, or leave behind the shovel. A crossbow had the advantage of being long-range. A crowbar had the advantage of being a bludgeon. A shovel had an advantage of also being a bludgeon, as well as things like what she had just been doing...
She had made her choice.
Placing the bag back on the ground, she slid out the crowbar, and tried to figure out what to do with it. Maybe stash it around here, so if she needed a weapon she could come back and find it? But what if someone found it? What if someone used it badly?
She wouldn't let that happen.
Chase had placed it in under the carriage parts of the carousel again, the exact same place as before. She hoped no one would notice it. If she needed a new weapon, though, she could always come back, right?
She grabbed the shovel, placed the crossbow in her bag as well as she could, and started to leave. However, she came to a horrifying realization once she was at the entrance.
Marty had Joshua and that crush of his die. She had seen how earlier he had tried to kill himself by busting a camera, only to be stopped. This was before Joshua had been killed. After he had died, she had found a full grave and an empty grave, with Joshua no where in sight. This after he ran directly in front of Nick. There was a possibility that the filled grave had Joshua in it and the empty grave was for...
Marty had wanted to die back there.
She didn't want to dwell on it.
And there was no telling that if she knew the whole picture, she'd react any better.
She just had to go.
((Anna Chase continued in Sweet Dreams Are Made Of This))
((End of thread))