The world moved around Garren as he sat listlessly on the sofa. He could hear the sounds of footsteps in the other room, of Ace rummaging through the bags left behind, of other human movement in this little wooden cabin in the middle of the ocean. He didn’t stir, didn’t move a muscle. His vision was focused on one corner of the room, trying his goddamn hardest to ignore the magnetic pull back towards Ivy and Myles.
It would have been almost nice for his mind to just be blank, totally void of all emotion, but of course not, no, nothing could be that fucking easy. It was filled with that ringing again, of images of the two of them lying there, of Tirzah, of Aoi. Of the conversation he and Myles had shared. Of the smile Ivy had given him when they’d all woken up that morning.
He was lucid enough, though, to jolt upright as Ace re-entered, glancing up at the other boy as he quickly moved through the room, stopping just as he reached the front door. Garren’s eyes burned into his back. He could feel how heavy his eyelids were, the dark rings surrounding his eyes. He nodded, even though Ace couldn’t see him. He didn’t say anything more as the boy left.
He kept staring out the open door for a long time after Ace left. He didn’t wish for anything, no suffering or misfortune to fall on the dude. He just wondered what would happen to him now.
Garren stood up, eventually, every muscle in his body feeling like it hadn’t been put to use for decades. The shotgun came with him as he made his way into the other room, his hands still growing adjusted to the weight of it, the shape of the trigger and the grip. Part of him didn’t want to ever get used to it, another part of him couldn’t help but go ‘oh shit, fucking shotgun, that’s cool as hell.’
All of him, though, knew he didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. You
had to take what you were given out here. Even if you didn’t plan on using it, it meant you removed it from the options of someone who
would.
The room had, somehow, become even more of a mess since the last time Garren had been in it. Ivy’s bags were lying, crumpled, on the bed, and he didn’t need to take a closer look at them to know that they were both empty. The rest of the bed was littered with Ivy’s - non-vital, he noticed - belongings. Clothes, makeup, hairbrush, a ring - the usual stuff, stuff that he’d only ever gotten close to when he’d needed to ask Stefanie something. There was… was that toothpaste and a toothbrush? Yeah, it was, he realised as he stepped close. He suddenly felt the fuzz on his tongue, and the stuffy feeling in his mouth, like permanent morning breath.
There was something else, among the clothing and accessories, and Garren realised, as he scooped it up to investigate, it was a little roll of photos, all of Ivy and Myles together. Half of them were of the two sitting together, smiling, laughing, just hanging out, the other half were of them pulling dumb faces, tongues stuck out, that sorta thing. The last one showed Ivy resting her head on Myles’ shoulder, her eyes closed, looking peaceful even through the laminated print. There was a smile on Myles’ face as he looked down at her, one that Garren had never seen before, one that showed nothing but care and affection, one that came as naturally as breathing to him.
He looked at the camera roll for a while longer, before folding it up and slipping it into his pocket. It didn’t matter one damn bit about who started the argument, and who shot who, and whose fault it was. They were just kids. They were… fuck, that was all it was, they were just goddamn kids, dude.
He grabbed the toothbrush and toothpaste, quickly heading back into the other room to pick up his own bag, and the gun and knife lying next to Myles body, before scooping everything else onto the bed back into Ivy’s bag and dumping them both onto the floor. A rummage through the room gave him a small laundry list of new supplies; a small selection of food and water, the contents of around one and a quarter medkits, ammunition, a knife that he recognised from his dalliances with CoD as a ballistic knife, and some anime-ass looking serrated sword thing. All of it went into his bag, rusted metal alarm attachment clanking and scraping as he zipped it all up.
Now for the important part.
It took Garren a solid five minutes of staring at Myles and Ivy’s hands, laced together, before he could bring himself to touch them, to break apart their hold of each other. It felt all sorts of wrong, defiling a grave before it had even been dug. But it felt even worse to just leave them… lying here, on a dusty floor.
He scooped Myles up first, getting the heavier of the two - not by much, of course - out of the way first. His knees buckled as he stumbled towards the bedroom. Every step made him feel like he was about to collapse and never get back up again. It might have taken minutes. Might have taken an hour. Maybe hours. He got to the bed eventually, laying Myles down on the far side, head resting on the pillow. A quick breather, a small moment to catch his breath. Then he returned for Ivy.
It was easier, carrying her, but not by much. His back still felt like it was on the verge of snapping like a twig, as she slipped out of his arms and onto the bed beside Myles. Gently, he took hold of her hand, placing it atop Myles, as they slumbered next to each other.
Then he collapsed to the ground and his vision went black.
It took a minute or so for him to regain consciousness, jerking awake, breathing heavily, slumped by the side of the bed. He remained like that for a little while longer, until the ringing dispersed, and his breathing went back to normal. Part of him considered just… staying where he was, until the sky turned orange again and he had some manner of clarity.
He got up, slipped his bag over his shoulders, and made for the front door. You didn’t sleep in a haunted house. That was fuckin’ obvious. No matter how much apparent safety it provided from the outside.
Garren took a few deep breaths as he stepped outside. Alone again. Better supplied, now, but hollower. Starvation had felt pretty fucking awful. This felt worse.
He picked a direction and trudged away from the house, uncertain whether or not there were ghosts following after him.
((Garren Mortimer continued in
Look at the Cleanse, look at the moves!))