The blood just wouldn't stop pumping out of Freya's stomach. Each beat of her heart, it squirted through his fingers, staining the fabric of his blazer. He nodded as she instructed him to find Galahad. Okay - he knew Galahad, he could do that. He wasn't a terrible guy. Hadn't killed anyone yet, either. That was good. But-
The blood stopped spurting through his fingers.
Freya's hand thumped to the ground, middle finger outstretched.
"Freya?" His voice was a whisper. "Freya?"
His own breath was ragged, hollow. Fisher Darden looked up at Pippa and didn't recognize who was standing in front of him anymore. He'd thought that he had. For a long while - what was it he'd called her behind her back? The Ice Queen? She'd been uppity; not the kind of person he'd ever have wanted to spend any amount of time with.
But in a life-or-death situation, he could have done worse, right?
Right?
Fisher looked down at Freya, on the ground.
Freya, in his arms.
Freya, dead.
No, that wasn't right at all. He couldn't have found a worse person. She could have helped them with Lena. She could have, oh - I don't know,
not stabbed Freya in the fucking stomach! She could have done anything at all except for what she'd done, but she didn't. She didn't, and now two of his classmates were dead, and he was left, defenseless and alone.
Her leaving him the bag was meant to sound magnanimous - Fisher was absolutely sure that Pippa felt absolutely fantastic about herself for that. What a service she was doing him. Giving him an extra bag, oh gee golly, what a gesture. Partly out of fear for his own life as Pippa picked up the musket and partly out of his own shock at what he'd just witnessed, he didn't say a word as Pippa turned and left him behind. He couldn't say a thing. His heart was thundering in his chest worse than it had when he'd awoken to this horrible nightmare. Earlier he'd felt like they were sauntering deeper into the depths of hell. With every step, the flames seemed to singe his eyebrows. The blood on his hands was starting to dry.
None of this seemed real.
Slowly, Fisher rose from Freya's body. He knew that he should have done something for her. A burial, a last rites, something meaningful. Something to illustrate to himself that he still had his humanity intact. Pippa had evidently chosen to leave hers behind. But nothing came to mind. What could he really do, aside from pick up his bag - plural now,
thank you very much you murderous bitch - and leave it all behind?
Only one thing came to mind, an apology to Freya. Over and over again.
"I should have been better. I'm sorry."
Saying it out loud didn't make it any less hurtful, nor did it make it feel any better. He had let her down. Fisher should have stepped in before things escalated, but he hadn't. So now?
He'd made her a promise -
Galahad - and that seemed as good a place as any to start.
((Fisher Darden continued in Sing Us a Song; You're the Piano Man))