FEAR stands for fuck everything and run.

[The Honeless Beard]

((Dougie Sharpe, And in Her Self-Loathing and Despair, She Found Wrath))

A few years ago, his mom had taken him and his brothers Cross Country skiing.

It was a decision built upon impulse. They'd been visiting a great uncle at the time who had a lodge up in Colorado, a visit they'd known about for months ahead of time and had been dreading just as long. Skinny had whined about the snow and lack of video games up at the lodge, finding little charm in fireplaces and log cabins. Kyle had more looked at the impending training camp for football in August, and though it was February he still felt the need to go running, work out, and generally keep his title as captain for another year.

Dougie mostly echoed his brothers' complaints, though secretly he adored the log cabin and the seclusion he felt. He wanted to sit and read Through the Looking Glass by firelight, maybe walk in the wonderful frozen wonderland.

True to form, when they arrived at the lodge and had just started to unpack, his mother had revealed that she brought along skis and ski poles. The 'impulse' had apparently occurred months and months beforehand, when she found ski boots that would fit Dougie. "We're going to head into the woods and learn to ski!"

Kyle pointed out that they had perfectly good hiking boots, and wouldn't that have been easier?

"But this is more fun!"

Trevor had asked why they couldn't just play a board game, or watch TV.

"You can do that at home." she replied, losing a little patience.

Dougie remained silent, thinking that he might actually enjoy it.

Within an hour, Trevor had planted his ski poles in the powder and wobbled undignified towards the lodge, Kyle had switched to boots and put in his iPod, preferring to stroll in the woods. Within two, their mother had sought shelter and a pot of tea, Kyle accompanying her back to the lodge.

Dougie remained in the cold for hours, trudging along and feeling exhilarated by the wind, the sounds of the forest, the privacy the scraggly trees and scurrying animals provided.

When he finally returned, shaking snow out of his coat from the half dozen times he'd fallen or sat to take a break, his mother looked up from her book to ask how it was.

"Alright," Dougie replied.

The seclusion this time wasn't comforting. The biting wind and smattering of snow offered no privacy - not with glassy lenses tracking his every movement and microphones picking up every breath. There wasn't any simple pleasure of working his muscles and feeling the burn.

All there was was a crushing self doubt that permeated all of his emotions - hunger, thirst, mild pleasure at dissolving a tense situation and disappointment that he couldn't fully stop it from occurring in the first place.

Hands in his sweater pockets, beanie pulled tight around his ears, he walked, sand hard and frozen beneath his boots, eyes scanning the ocean for something - anything - to help him.

The darkened theatre provided no answers as he turned to face it, closing his eyes against the sting of the wind.

[SansaSaver]

((Marcus Redder continued from Psycho Beach Party))

Marcus’ travels over the past days, even with companions, had been fraught with anxieties and remembrances and bitter sobs. But making his way towards the theatre with Lucia’s hand in his made for an entirely different affair. Memories of his family still sat heavy in his heart, but with Lucia by his side and her own memories to give – tales of Sicily, and of Albuquerque, and of her dreams and hopes – they were no longer accompanied by darkness and despair. For the first time in so long, Marcus felt at peace.

Their journey seemed to end far too soon for Marcus’ liking, his and Lucia’s hushed conversation trailing off as they approached the entranceway to the theatre. It looked positively massive, almost gargantuan in comparison to the small, picturesque cinema Whittree possessed; the outside was the epitome of glamour, being framed by gold lettering and intricate designs the likes of which he’d scarcely ever been privy too. For a moment Marcus stood awestruck at the sight before him, but before he had much time to fully process the building’s appearance, another element of the scenery came through; much more important and impossibly familiar to him.

Stepping forward ever-so-slightly, Marcus’ grip on Lucia’s hand unintentionally slackened and his mouth contorted in shock as he gazed upon a friend he never thought he’d see again.

“Dougie?”

[Pippi]

((Lucia del Pirlo continued from Psycho Beach Party))

He’s using you.

He’ll kill again. He’ll kill someone and pin it all on you, or abandon you, or worse.

This isn’t going to end well.

Nothing with you ever does.

The little voice in the back of Lucia’s mind refused to stay silent. Whenever anything happened to her, major or minor, innocuous or strange, it always leapt to the worst possible explanation for it. If someone didn’t say hello to her at school, then they clearly hated her irreversibly. If she heard a sound behind her, or from somewhere in her room whilst she tried to sleep, it was without doubt a murderer or monster in hiding.

It had grown in volume since her first day of waking up, and it hadn’t stopped, not even when she’d tried to sleep.

Right now, though, it was growing quieter as it seemed to be proven wrong.

Marcus hadn’t done anything suspicious or different. He’d simply held her hand and talked with her as they walked towards the theatre, like they were on a date or something. Lucia had gone red at the thought as they left the beach, but she just felt so much safer this way. Usually it could take her a while to open up to people after she’d first met them, but she found herself telling Marcus so much about herself and her life. She told him about Sicily and Albuquerque, about her friends and family, about painting and photography and the movies she watched and anything and everything she could think of.

She wished she didn’t have to stop talking, that the world would continue around her whilst she existed in her own little bubble of space and time. But soon enough, they reached the theatre, and Lucia’s words died in her throat. It was beautiful. She felt the familiar urge to pull her sketchbook out and start drawing it, the sharp outlines and corners of the building, the curved designs covering every inch of it, and the sheer vastness of it, rising out of the snow like some strange colossus.

For several seconds, Lucia was so absorbed in her surroundings that she didn’t even notice that they were not the only people in the theatre. There was another guy standing nearby. Lucia had no clue who he was, but he was evidently a familiar face for Marcus.

“Uh... um... hello...”

All the security Lucia had felt a second ago had vanished as quickly as it had come.

[The Honeless Beard]

Dougie froze as a voice floated towards him, shaking him from his brief reverie. He turned to see two figures in the entryway of the theatre, a dozen feet away from his own perch on the back of a chair. He'd moved indoors since his brief stint as a philosopher outside, now sitting with his fingers steepled and pressed to his mouth, eyes scanning the darkened corners.

Marcus.

Marcus was a killer. Someone who'd given themselves well and truly to... this. Someone who, for better or worse, had embraced it all - the stress, the kill-or-be-killed, the lights and freedom that show business offered all of them.

With him was a girl, looking afraid of him while clutching tightly to the hand of a multi-murderer. The thought made him want to shake his head.

He ignored her for now, unfolding his large frame from the chair to stand in the aisle, in his hand rotating a tree branch experimentally. It'd do if Marcus snapped again. He could probably shake them off if need be.

"Hey," he said, his deep voice booming across the short distance. He didn't mean to shout it - meant for it to be casual - but to his own ears it sounded threatening, overbearing, in the silent space.

For lack of something else to say, he followed up with "Uh, do either of you have any Skittles left?"

[SansaSaver]

Dougie’s mention of skittles sent a memory flashing through Marcus’ mind; the swirling of colour that’d enveloped his vision back in the museum, when Vahka had tossed him to the floor like a ragdoll and the handful of pebbles in his possession had been scattered all around. The last time he’d offered candy, he’d been rewarded with a body of bruises and a broken hand and the shattered fragments of his naïveté. And as Dougie asked if they had any in their possession, Marcus couldn’t help but feel apprehensive, as though the terror and pain he’d experienced back at the museum might once again rear its head.

Almost instinctively, Marcus took a step backwards, before attempting to shake the notion out of his head. That was silly. He’d been betrayed before, but that didn’t mean every other person in the resort would do the same, did it? And with Lucia by his side, it wasn’t as though nothing could go wrong – he doubted he’d ever feel quite so optimistic again – but rather that there was some glimmer of hope, some potential for things to turn out alright.

“I do,” he replied after a moment’s pause, setting firm his resolve by slipping his backpack from his shoulders and placing it gently on the ground; squatting as he sifted through its contents. He clutched the unopened packet to his chest once he’d retrieved it from Eden’s belongings, savouring the crunch of the plastic as he did so. He’d left Angie and Jaxon’s bags behind at the beach – he wasn’t quite sure why he’d done it, only that something had driven him to abandon the duo’s backpacks. It might’ve been a way of repenting, or to lessen the load or something else entirely – he didn’t know. But whatever the reason, the feeling of utter catharsis as he left their belongings in his wake was undeniable. As such, all he had left was what of Eden’s he’d stashed into his own backpack upon fleeing the gym, and even that was begging to weigh much too heavily on his conscience.

Marcus opted not to pitch the skittles towards Dougie, instead planting them gently in the other boy’s hand, accompanying the gift with a warm smile.

“How’re you?” He added, softly, before glancing back at Lucia and offering her a comforting nod. It wasn’t the best question to ask in the world, not in this hellish place where the answers were only ever negative or lies, but his mind offered no alternatives and anything was better than silence and the lack of distraction from the bitter cold that came with it.

[The Honeless Beard]

Dougie watched Marcus approach, clutching the skittles in his hand - it was small, too small. How could someone with such small hands be a murderer? - and quietly panicked. He knew what he was about to do, what he was about to say, could have extremely bad circumstances. He didn't know Marcus' story, or what he'd been through, or the why's and the how's and the dots to connect in Marcus' journey from normal boy to psychotic killer. All he knew was that of the two of them, Dougie had his hands free of blood.

Marcus took another few steps, held the skittles out. Dougie's large, dark hand reached for them, bridged the gap.

And his hand kept on going, until his fingers closed around Marcus' wrist as the skittles hit the frozen floor, the package splitting, sending a rainbow of candies skittering across the tile and spinning into dark corners.

The contact shocked him as his grip tightened, his feet carrying him closer to Marcus' ear, his voice low, dangerous.

"What have you done."

[Pippi]

Lucia ran.

She knew, as she turned tail and fled, turned her back on Marcus and left him behind, just how awful her actions were. Marcus was the first person who'd reached out to her, the first person who'd truly understood her and why she'd done what she'd done. Austin had tried to get on her good side to manipulate her. Aidan and Laura had allied with her simply because they shared the same end goal. Only Marcus had cared about her, and empathised with her.

Lucia had thought she felt the same about him. And yet she still ran.

The other boy had intimidated her the moment he opened his mouth. He hadn't introduced himself to her. He had simply asked for Skittles, for some unknown reason. He had been loud, far too loud for such a quiet area. She had shrank back into the shadows away from him, even though Marcus seemed to know him. The small nod Marcus had given her had reassured her briefly that everything was alright.

Then the boy had grabbed Marcus' wrist, and Lucia had jumped backwards and her legs had worked against her will. The movement had been so sudden, so violent. He had asked what Marcus had done, and there was only one thing he could have been talking about. Marcus seemed to be friends with the boy, and this was still his reaction. How on earth would he have reacted if he had found out Lucia's name?

So Lucia had ran. It was the only option in her mind, her mind which seemed to be detached from her body. She ran as tears flooded her eyes and Marcus grew further and further away. She hoped he would be able to run away too, and that when he did, he'd be able to find her again. She knew that the chances of that were unbelievably small.

Lucia ran, and hated herself with every step.

((Lucia del Pirlo continued in Yesterday Was Better))

[SansaSaver]

A shuddering gasp vacated Marcus’ mouth as Dougie’s hand clamped around his own, the skittles almost immediately falling from his hand as his fingers reflexively widened. A spray of candy flowed forth, rattling around his feet as his breathing grew heavier and tears welled within his eyes. He couldn’t do it again, couldn’t bear to have to relive what he’d done as he justified himself to Dougie, with reasoning he knew the other boy would never readily accept. He scrunched his eyes tightly shut – attempting to steady his breathing and stop the panic within his chest from becoming even more intense – but they flew open again just as quickly as he heard the crunch of feet upon snow and Lucia’s warmth rapidly disappear from the area.

Marcus whirled his head around, mouth agape as he watched Lucia’s retreating form quickly fade further and further into the distance.

“I...” He stumbled over his words, struggling to voice a protestation over the confusion that was overwhelming him. Why was she leaving? And why so suddenly, without a word of goodbye? Marcus’ chest began to rapidly rise and fall, panic and fear quickly blending with confusion and causing his legs to knock violently together. It felt as though an icy breeze had washed over him and gripped his heart within his fingers. He stood stock still for a moment, sneakers rooted to the ground and he struggled to find clarity within the sudden hail of questions and emotions and thoughts assaulting him.

It didn’t long to click, however.

Lucia had abandoned him, plain and simple. She’d taken the first opportunity she’d been given to up and leave him in the dust, just like everybody else. Everything had been looking up, he’d finally found some hope in this place, thought he’d finally found someone who cared about him and understood. So why did she leave?

He couldn’t think why, couldn’t pull some justification from the recesses of his mind, however flimsy it might’ve been. What had he done? What had he done to lose the one good thing he had going for him? He had to know, more than anything in the world.

Curiosity and desperation taking hold, Marcus violently wrenched his arm out of Dougie’s iron grip with a strength that surprised even him. He bolted from the area in Lucia’s direction, thoughts of Dougie dissipating almost immediately as he did so. Even though he’d reacted with suspicion, there was always that chance that Dougie might help him, might give him the comfort he needed... Or he could leave, just as everybody else had, and Marcus was unwilling to take that risk. Lucia was different; he couldn’t just let her leave like that, not this one beacon of hope. If he lost her, then there’d be nothing left for him.

Nothing at all.

((Marcus Redder continued in Measure By Measure, Drop By Drop))

[The Honeless Beard]

Marcus pulled free, and Dougie released him as he chased after his companion, hands sliding to his pockets as he stood stock still, watching the smaller boy run. He wanted to scream after him, wanted to make him face himself, his actions, the camera and tell them all that he was wrong and he was going to hell and he'd deserve whatever justice this place meted out.

He didn't, though - a common theme. Even more common was feeling helpless, hopeless, as once again he let the situation pass him by without interference. Instead, he waited and watched. Hunger and a wave of exhaustion overcame him, but he didn't succumb to them - not until Marcus and his companion were completely disappeared.

Then, with shaking hands, he scooped up the scattered Skittles, scraping them from ice and carpet with frozen fingers. He bounced them in his wide, dark palm, the colours seeming too bright, too chipper for the acts of atrocity they'd witnessed. He jiggled them, watching as the wet candies dyed his palms in a Pollock rainbow of smudges and stains.

His eyes focused on the black lens of a camera, witnessing the exchange, hiding a multitude of eyes behind it, minds and fingers and voices that all judged, weighed, discussed their every action. The hand became a fist around the cold, hard candies, the wet cold seeping into his palm. Suddenly, the exhaustion, the hunger, faded to a muted desire that was far outweighed by the wanting to be free, be at peace, have some fucking privacy - him and his thoughts and his jumbled morality that he could feel slipping away by every moment he was forced to be observed in the middle of chaos.

Dougie turned suddenly, hurrying down a carpeted hallway, checking doors as he went along with his free hand. Most jiggled fruitlessly, but one door - marked helpfully with a golden plate with EMPLOYEES ONLY scrawled upon it - remained unlocked, containing two mop buckets and a stepladder.

Grabbing the steel rungs with his free hand, Dougie dragged it back out into the hall, pushing it towards one of the lower-mounted cameras that tracked his movements on silent, eerie hinges. He used his boot to kick the stepladder open, the hinges frozen with cold and creaking in protest as it opened and held his cautiously tested weight.

He paused, hesitated, then poured the skittles into his mouth, chewing them thoroughly until they were a multi-coloured mass of powdery-tasting chunks. Slowly, he climbed the ladder until his face was close - very close - to the camera lens.

He smiled a rainbow smile, gave a two-finger wave in greeting, then spat the gob of skittles directly into the glass, making satisfying pinging noises as they connected and rolled away.

With that, feeling very foolish and even more scrutinized, Dougie adjusted his beanie, knocked the ladder over, and headed out.

((Dougie Sharpe, Sharp and clear and pure and gone.))