Sharp and Clear and Pure and Gone

#1

((Jewel Evans continued from A Prayer for Something Better))

As she rounded the corner to the landing connecting the first and second floor staircases, Jewel stumbled slightly, kicking up once more the aching. She didn't fall, but mostly because she was still bracing against the wall. When she had stabilized, she looked down; the laces on her right shoe had come undone. It was blurry from a distance, and she blinked and brought her left hand up to rub her eyes and clean them, then stopped. Her palm was coated in grey. Apparently, the white walls weren't as clean as they looked. She considered leaving her eyes alone, then instead wiped her hand against the leg of her pants. When it was mostly returned to its natural color, she pressed it against her eyes, squeezing out a few drops of moisture—the transition from cold to warm had made her eyes water—and some accumulated gunk. She pressed hard enough that spots appeared in her vision, darker black and marbled brownish. When she stopped, the view of her feet was more distinct.

She was still shielded from view of the bottom floor, the final staircase just around the corner, or she would never have stopped so casually. The condominiums were still empty aside from her from all she'd noticed as she slipped past the five upper floors, but maybe that just meant that anyone else inside was hidden in units and not making sound. She never would have accepted the possibility of being alone and would have proceeded with caution far greater had the announcement not suggested how few others remained. Everything implied well over half of them were gone. It wasn't the final ten—that would have been explicitly stated—and probably not twenty yet either, though that was less certain. Between thirty and there seemed most likely, and if that was the case it was possible for a building like this to be largely unoccupied, though the corralling made its odds of staying that way low.

Jewel knelt and fixed her laces. She'd done this before, both times in cold bathrooms when she changed and the second with the same injuries she suffered from now, but this still took longer. She held one lace normally in her left hand and pinched the other loosely between thumb and index of her right, biting her cheek in a futile effort to drown out or distract from the pain that came from jostling her hand too much and trying not to think about her fingers. The movements were sloppy,and she had to do it twice before it stuck, and even then the knot was loose to the point that it could easily come undone again. She considered double knotting, smirked at the thought of how dorky it would be, then didn't do it because she told herself it would hurt too much. She did retie the other shoe too, though, just in case.

She stood up again and edged the rest of the way around the corner. Past the stretch of stairs before her was a hallway and a door and then her bag—via the most direct route; when she'd been set on destruction she'd snaked through the units on the first floor without purpose, checking every door she passed—and then she hadn't figured out what.

Even though it was not going to happen, Jewel had an irrational, gut-level expectation and hope that Sarah would be there, maybe having chickened out, maybe covered in Ashley's blood, waiting in the same spot she'd rested in so briefly. Jewel tried to listen for anyone, but it was hard to make much out. Her ears were ringing again, and hurting somewhere inside, and it was probably because she'd come out of the cold but that didn't really matter. She couldn't discern any signs of movement, but the first floor was where it was more likely she would encounter others, maybe having set up while she was above, maybe fleeing danger zones and seeking new shelter. And was the rest of the building really abandoned? She moved as quietly as she could, judging each audible footfall against the perfect stealth of an imagined stalker following her down from the floor above. She shouldn't have been so frightened by the thought. It was the sort of thing that was expected on the show. It was the sort of thing she'd been more than prepared for.

The door to the unit she and Sarah had shared was in front of her finally. Jewel took a deep breath and reached out and opened it, slipping inside and moving towards where her bag lay.

The Honeless Beard · #2

When the door slid open, the very first thing of note was that it was no longer unoccupied.

Amidst the chaos and damage that Jewel had done to the condo - the flipped furniture, destroyed picture frames, ruined decorations - sat Dougie, perched awkwardly on the arm of a three-seater sofa, two headsets in his lap and a metal towel rack across his knees, drywall still dangling from one end of it. Dangling from one hand was the remainder of Jewel's bag - ripped into tatters, zipper hanging free and dragging on the floor, making a soft scratching noise as it scraped against it. Strewn all over the room were empty first aid kits, destroyed food packages, pieces of a shirt.

Dougie met Jewel's eyes, and unfolded his frame, the two headsets falling in perfect unison to bounce against the floor and skid away from him, assisted by a swipe with his boot. He had rehearsed this moment so many times since he had jiggled the first knob he'd found in the condos and had found it unlocked. He'd practised - in his head, aloud, in front of the bathroom mirror - ever since he'd picked up that spare headset with shaking hands, found the mountain of food, the coat, a stun baton - too much, much too much, for another of Jewel's victims to have. He'd memorized his lines, memorized hers, as he'd slowly and painstakingly removed her advantage - weaponry, food, bag - everything.

She'd be shocked. She'd be taken aback. She'd start swearing that she was weak, unwilling to take the high road, and he'd be so far above her, beyond her, able to pity and humble her.

But in the moment, he saw none of those things. In the moment, the only action he thought was best was to lift his hand and let the ruined bag fall to the floor with a muffled flap.

In the moment, all he could find to say was "Hey."

#3

"Oh," Jewel said. Her right index finger—the only one on that hand not buried beneath bandages and the only one not shooting with pain—twitched. Somewhere, she wondered if Sarah had yet fired the axe-gun. Jewel didn't turn, did not even glance over her shoulder at the staircase she had just descended. She took two steps into the room, towards Dougie. Each was the result of focus, and she did not stumble or waver but she did shiver a little, bare forearms (except of course for where the left was wrapped in bandages) prickling, arm hair standing up against the chill. "Hey."

Her lips turned up at the edges, tentatively. She took another step, nudged a shattered mug out of her way with her toe. Her mouth went flat again.

"It's been a while," she said.

The room looked worse than it had before, but how much of that was Dougie's doing and how much her own altered perspective as she now took in every detail of the damage she herself had wrought remained unclear. There were scraps of cloth and gauze, torn band-aid wrappers, half a sandwich lying in an arc of its component ingredients, but also there was the end table on its side and a shattered picture frame she held no memory of. It was still dim, the sun probably about to rise outside and the first natural light leaking in through the sliding glass door to the balcony, a mirror of the one she'd stepped out onto five stories above.

One more step, and the smile returned reinvigorated.

"How've you been?"

The Honeless Beard · #4

Dougie tapped the solid metal bar against his free palm, the metallic smack filling the silence in response to her question. He wanted to tug his beanie down around his eyebrows and resisted, wanted to hide his hands in his pockets and resisted. Both were gestures based on self comfort, and he didn't want that - not here, not facing her.

Jewel had a way of unsettling him, and he wanted to be on edge. Needed to beat her there.

She stepped towards him, and he held his ground, kept his steely gaze on her, envisioned all the people she hurt.

Held his ground.

#5

The slap of metal against flesh didn't echo—the acoustics in the condominium weren't very good—but Jewel could imagine and somewhere in the distance a thump picked up in counterpoint to it. She took another step, not straight towards him but off at a diagonal. Because he had been sitting on the arm of the sofa and not its seat, Jewel angled her steps to take her around so that she'd be facing the front of it. Her next step was heavier than she'd meant, and the wound in her thigh became the most pressing. She stopped walking for a second, and while she kept her smile it was only through conscious effort.

Jewel chuckled. Her arms prickled again; was there a draft from somewhere?

She raised her left hand to her head and brushed her hair to the side. It had been a long time since she'd paid her hair any real attention and it was matted, so that as she dragged her fingers through it they did not move as smoothly as she'd expected. She eyed Dougie. She'd almost forgotten that he'd been there way back at the start, up on the stage with her. She could recall now some of what had passed between them, though.

"You're not very good at answering questions," she said. "I think that's kind of rude."

The Honeless Beard · #6

As she moved, he did, too, taking a too-large step to the left, until their movements were counter to each-other, circling one another. Dougie's gaze flitted around the room briefly, before focusing back on hers, green orbs meeting hazel under the cold blue haze that winter brought to the condo. The metal bar kept tapping at his palm, the slap of it keeping his teeth on edge, his gaze narrowed.

She was standing there, cool as a cucumber, having murdered nine people.

Dougie flexed his fingers, resisting the itch of his hairline under the purple beanie.

"Okay."

#7

"Okay," Jewel said, mirroring Dougie's tone. This was what he wanted? Okay.

She was dancing lead right now, steps slow but he wouldn't know why. She met his gaze and held it and her smile became genuine again. She hadn't thought it would be Dougie to return. Yagmur maybe, or... or one of the others, like Cathryn and—and when she couldn't remember all the rest there was this tension that started to rise, and she felt suddenly like something was missing.

Not something. Someone. Who was immaterial. She'd had these little one on one meetings throughout her time here, but mostly it had been threes, and always with Dougie and the like. Now it was just the two of them, staring each other down, and just for a second Jewel felt a bit of doubt.

"Okay," she said again.

The Honeless Beard · #8

Irritation stole up the back of Dougie's neck as she mimicked his tone - in it, he heard cruel laughter and sadistic delight. In her hazel eyes he saw hatred reflected, glee exacerbated, the suffering of high school kids at her hands and how she relished in it. In her face he read a lack of remorse, a beacon, a warning, to not step over some line before she snapped.

She was insane, after all. How could she not be? How could anyone here, who threw themselves so wholly and fully into the heart of this twisted entertainment be sane? How could they retain normalcy and simplicity and values when there were people to bump off, underlings to massacre to increase your own standing?

Jewel, he imagined, had been clawing at the fragile rope ladder since she'd woken up freezing cold. She'd been kicking at the others who'd tried to scale it and come out heavily on top. Somewhere, someone had odds on them all - on this very encounter - and he imagined she was heavily favoured, even with her obvious wounds.

She was dangerous, Dougie told himself, as he ground his teeth together. She needed to be stopped - and in a way what beyond destroying her possessions could do.

So, he let his mask slip slowly - for the first time in days, he allowed himself a slow, creeping smile as he took two steps - casual, easy - first towards the door, then towards her, beginning to pen her in.

#9

When Dougie broke their pattern, moving between Jewel and the door, she inhaled, the corners of her mouth dipping slightly. She held the breath until he took his next step, towards her. Behind her was the sliding glass door, at which she did not turn to look.

She did not match Dougie's steps. Instead, she stopped and stood, arms loose at her sides, posture as close as she could be to at ease. She let her shoulders relax or slump a little bit. The hints of light filtering in behind her let her see his face more clearly, let her pick out the slow reveal of his teeth. His mouth was very wide. She focused on his purple hat, the same one he'd worn so often at school. Jewel was pretty tall, and it was still a long ways up.

After a half second, she forced her eyes back down, to meet his, and raised her left eyebrow.

The Honeless Beard · #10

Moments that made you, moments that broke you, decisions and their consequences that weighed or freed or burdened - Dougie was familiar with them all. He’d remained strong, he’d thought - strong, resistant, pure in the face of endless destruction and sorrow and hatred. He’d held fast against the tide since his boots had first crunched into pure snow and Tickle Me Elmo had stared him in the face.

Now, he faced a killer - unrepentant, unconcerned, unarmed. A killer who he'd let walk away and start her rampage, despite his instinct screaming that she'd manipulate and destroy and was fully capable of playing the game to the hilt, and he'd paid the price of that action every time another name followed hers. Now, he had the means, the ability, to end it. End her.

As he closed the gap, as they were inches away from one another, questions continued to race. Did he have the strength? Did he have the will? Could he fail again?

He grit his teeth, imagined the sound of pavement on skull, the whud whud whud that accompanied yellow and regret for twelve seconds, a familiar face turning the unfamiliar into red, oozing paste that spread and seeped into the asphalt. He pictured it so vividly, but with Jewel's face as the victim and his as the perpetrator, his family gathered and staring in shock, awe, disgust.

His hand lowered, his head shook, his feet took him one pace, two paces backwards, half-turning towards the door.

Then he turned back and the metal bar was in his hand and it was raised to his shoulder as he widened his stance to a batter's and the bar was sailing downwards into the hard bone of Jewel's right knee and the angle of impact made the kneecap shift violently to the right and whud.

His hands rang. His stomach churned. Sweat poured into his palms.

He raised the bar again.

#11

Jewel did not reach for Dougie. She did not flinch from him, even as he came so close she could have leaned forward and rested her head against his chest. When he backpedaled, hesitation clear to her, she stopped herself from following and did not let her arm shoot out to catch the bar and tug him in close. Even as rage and fear and hesitant relief welled, she stood immobile, observing.

When he changed his mind again, it still caught her by surprise. She only barely registered the arc of the bar, its path smooth, low, too low.

For a moment, she only felt a sense of sudden breaking, like when in middle school she'd snapped a fresh pencil in half to have an extra to lend. By the time the pain really hit, she was already falling. Everything after that was treacherous instinct.

She screamed. It sounded far away. Her arms flailed, and she broke her fall with her right hand and forearm, and that hurt worse than her knee for a second and then it all crashed down. She pulled her leg up towards her chest, and it didn't respond like it should have, her lower leg failing to pull in properly. She hugged her right hand to her chest and cradled her knee with her left as best she could and her breath went sharp and quick like how it did when she was sick right before she threw up. She'd landed amidst the shredded remains of a loaf of bread. Dougie's boots filled her vision in the second before she closed her eyes.

Jewel's scream trailed into sobs as she lay on the ground, her shaking no longer at all due to the cold.

The Honeless Beard · #12

The screams echoed upon the frigid air as Dougie froze, the weapon raised far above his head. The sobs tunnelled past his skin, snaked down his spine and curled against his lower back, straightening his posture. His hand rang from the impact, shook from the fallout, quivered with uncertainty.

After a moment, he tossed the metal bar towards the couch, where it hit the floor with a muffled clank and slid underneath the partially ruined sofa.

As he turned to leave, his steps detoured towards the two discarded headsets. the snap of plastic joining the symphony of sobs and the sound of stone smacking skull in his mind and the feeling of crunching electronics accompanying the disgusted ball of hate in his stomach.

((Dougie Sharpe, A sharp knife, a short life))

#13

Jewel lay there curled in on herself and waited and cried and nothing happened for a few seconds. She was tensed and anticipating what was coming insofar as she was consciously doing anything, her breath hitching, her cheeks wet and her throat aching, and when still nothing happened it took her a few seconds to force her eyes open.

She saw the bar spinning away under the couch. She saw those boots come down on the headsets, shattering the brittle plastic. She saw Dougie leave and even as the horror started to set in she couldn't begin to imagine a way to change anything. She could not call out; her sobs and the tightness of her throat meant all she managed were a few choked mumbles unrecognizable as words even to herself.

Before she could come to terms with what had just happened and not happened, Dougie was gone.

It felt like a very long time that Jewel lay on the ground, clutching at her knee and hand and unable to conceive of anything else.

((Jewel Evans continued in Nevermore))

Sharp and Clear and Pure and Gone

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