Punishment

[DetectiveArcher†]

B109, Edward Sullivan, tromped through the Graveyard, ignoring the pounding rain and wind whistling through the gravestones. Unreal. Everything was so...unreal. People were dead. Dead.

It wasn't what he'd thought it would be like. Nothing written in any of the swashbuckling adventure books he'd read could have prepared Eddie for the sheer horrifying reality of something like STOF.

For the first few days, he'd managed to avoid anyone else. He still wasn't sure if he'd hidden out of fear of finding someone who was playing, or the simple act of having to interacting with someone else. For the first few days, Eddie was alone, making sure to keep his sharp ears open for anything out of place.

After a while he'd managed to spot Wade Wilson. He'd expected the boy to be among the students who opposed the game. Everything he'd heard about Wade had been positive: a genuinely nice guy with a good eye for photography.

Following behind the taller boy, Eddie had hoped to eventually reveal himself and form some kind of team in order to escape the game. After all, people in books managed to pull of daring escapes on a regular basis. How hard could it be to pull off in real life? All Eddie had to do was work up the nerve to talk to Wade. But, something had been...not right.

Following the bright eyed photographer, Eddie bore witness to his savage descent into bloody madness. He killed those other students. Oh Jesus, they were dead!

Eddie clamped his hands over his ears as the phantom noises from the Lagoon incident replayed themselves in his head. Wade was insane. What he'd done to Jodene. Edward's stomach rushed into his throat. Remembering the spear, the nightstick, Jodene's surprised face, the blood (Oh God, the blood), made him nauseous. Hunching over, Edward purged the contents of his mostly empty stomach, the bile burning his throat.

He'd lost track of time since Wade's psychotic assault, ambling about aimlessly, eventually finding himself among the buried and forgotten.

Taking a few more shaky steps, Eddie allowed the strength to go out of his legs. Sitting roughly in the mud, only six feet above the remains of a nameless corpse, forgotten even by the stone which was supposed to act as a monument, the boy rested his back against a stone marker.

Quietly sobbing, Edward thought about how horrible it must have been to be Jodene. What happened after the spear strike...it was too disturbing to even think about going through. She didn't deserve that. Nobody did.

Edward knew he should have cared about the others who had died as well, but found that he couldn't. He'd always held a place in his heart for Jodene. She was average like he was. He'd paid more attention to her than he did to most. Average grades, average looks, average girl. But, despite her average life Jodene didn't hide like he did. She made friends, found a place for herself on the cheerleading squad...

Edward had viewed her as a more successful version of himself. How he might have turned out if he were more courageous. He'd never spoken to her, but that didn't stop him from liking the girl. He'd admired her, even loved her in his own way.

And now she was dead. And Edward had done nothing to help her. The guilt gnawed at his insides, refusing to go unheeded. He was used to watching and listening from the sidelines, but...was that enough in a game like this? Simply watching resulted in the deaths of 5 people. A peel of thunder ripped through the sky above.

Raking his fingers through the mud and grass, Eddie clenched the muck in his hand. He knew what he needed to do. Edward Sullivan no longer cared if he lived of died. He only knew that Wade Wilson needed to be stopped. Wade Wilson needed to die.

Edward tried to convince himself that the desire to kill the photographer was out of concern for his fellow students, but couldn't. If he were to kill Wilson it wouldn't be for the safety of other students. He would kill the madman solely for the pleasure of being able to avenge the fallen Jodene.

Forcing himself to his feet, Eddie wondered if the heroes in his books felt the way he did. The cold need to see his goals met wrapped across his stomach. He would see Wade dead for what he'd done. For what he'd taken.

But, where to start? Looking at the surrounding stone testaments to lost lives, Edward knew he wouldn't find what he needed here. Wiping the tears and rain from his face, Eddie walked off into the fury of the storm.

((Eddie continued elsewhere))