VERY OPEN
Who: Alex Shepherd and... OPEN
Where: The edge of the world
When: Shortly after Elle's death
Summary: Cain kills Abel and so the chapter closes on our little murder mystery...
Rating: PG 13?
Alex steeled his nerves as he reached for the knob of Tom’s front door. He shouldn’t have let it go. He shouldn’t have let Tom go. It was stupid, and he was a pathetic goddamn failure for it, and now he was paying the price. Rion had contacted Claire not long ago and gave a more accurate description of the killer, and every doubt that Harry Warden was back had finally vanished. He should’ve acted quicker, and he knew that he should’ve, but it didn’t matter anymore. Elle was dead. Elle was dead because Alex didn’t trust his gut feeling enough-because he didn’t trust himself enough. Because he was too fucking broken and worthless and-
There was a time and place for thoughts like this. They weren’t here nor now. Right now, he had to capture Tom, and put an end to this once and for all.
He slowly pushed his way inside, gritting his teeth at the way the door hinges squealed and the old worn-down floorboards creaked under his boots. The entire house was almost completely black with night, and that detail alone sent up a red flag. Tom always had candles lit when it got dark out. Always. The second Alex closed the door behind him, he immediately wished he hadn’t. His head instantly spun with memories-some physical, some sensory, some not-from the Grand Hotel in Silent Hill: long hallways, broken rooms, overturned chairs, and discarded furniture. Tom’s house didn’t have mold, and Alex knew it didn’t, but he could still smell it so strongly that he even could taste it. He felt the glands in his throat swell as he suppressed the urge to vomit, and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end as he took another step forward. There was something in this house-something dangerous and evil, something that wanted him dead and would never stop hunting him until he was.
That thing was Tom.
Swallowing hard, he continued his trek forward. His footfalls were heavy on the hardwood floor, and anyone anywhere in the house could hear them if they were paying even the slightest bit attention. With a shaky hand, he hesitantly reached out in front of him. Tom could be hiding anywhere in this place, and Alex couldn’t see two feet in front of his face. In the back of his mind, he played with the idea of taking his communicator out of his pocket and using the faint light from the device as a guide, but he quickly decided against it. It was the same tactic he’d used in Silent Hill; he may not have been able to see great himself, but it also meant that the enemy couldn’t see him, either. He paused at that. Tom wasn’t the enemy. Why would he think something like that?
“Tom?” he called out softly. It was more like a loud whisper. He took a few more steps forward, using the hand he kept on the wall for support. “Tom?”
A light came on behind him. It was faint, but it was far-reaching, similar to that of a dying flashlight. It swept past his immediate area before focusing on his back. It had to be Tom. So why wasn’t he saying anything? Was he scared? Alex turned around-
-just in time to catch glimpse of something flying at his face.
He threw himself to the ground pathetically, just barely dodging out of the way before he heard something heavy crash into the wall behind him. His mind was swimming with the sudden rush of adrenaline, and a sense of primal terror touched at the back of his eyes. Turning his head to look upwards, he gasped loudly at the sight of crumbling drywall that fell free from the pickaxe protruding from it. The man holding the weapon wasn’t Tom; he was covered head to toe in mining gear, including the mask. Alex wouldn’t have even been able to notice if the man hadn’t turned the light of his helmet on.
But Harry was back. And he was pissed.
The sound of scraping and crumbling hit Alex’s ears, and he immediately scrambled to his feet, heading towards the back of the house. He was armed. Alex had a pistol tucked in the back of his jeans and a knife hidden in his right boot, but he didn’t want to do anything that might hurt Tom. His best friend was still living somewhere in that body. He knew it was. But it was something that became easier and easier to forget as the sound of heavy boots hitting the floor behind him echoed off the walls. Even and unhurried, they still grew louder and louder with every footfall. Alex’s stomach tightened. Harry was catching up.
The light hit his back again. It came upon him so suddenly that it was blinding. Alex raised a hand to shield his eyes, not seeing the chair propped up against the side of his wall, blocking his path. He heard it before he felt it-the collision of wood on wood clattering together as the thing fell to the ground, entangling his leg with it. His balance slipped, but he caught himself on the nearby doorframe, pulling himself around the bend and into the next room.
Just as the scenery changed, a strong hand gripped at Alex’s wrist, yanked him back out into the hallway. He felt his back slam against the wall and the back of his head knock against it, sending a shockwave down the entire length of his spine. The light from Harry’s mining helmet was right in his face now, and the second he dared to crack his eyes open the slightest bit, he was forced to turn his head away. Alex’s heart was pounding in his chest so loudly he thought that Harry could hear it, and so insistently he was sure it was going to explode right there in his chest. It was only then he started to notice that sharp pain in his right shin.
The leather of Harry’s gloves was soft, smooth, and not entirely unpleasant against Alex’s skin. Strong fingers wrapped around his neck, just tight enough to pin him back against the wall. Of course he would drag this out; Harry probably hated Alex more than anyone else in World’s End. His grip tightened. Alex kicked back against the wall as he felt his feet leave the ground, trying desperately to regain his footing.
Had Tom always been this strong?
And suddenly, Alex’s throat closed. Panic grabbed at the back of his skull as his body started to understand that it was dying. He could feel his lungs beating desperately at his throat, at his neck, trying to open the passage back up, frantic to get the air back.
In a last ditch effort, his brain flipped its final emergency switch. Without feeling himself move, Alex reached into his boot, ripped his knife from its place, and drove it into the back of Harry’s wrist. The masked man immediately reeled backwards, and Alex dropped his knife as he scurried out of the hallway again, into the closest door. His body was in full flight mode now, and he just wanted to run, wanted to leave, needed to just go. Desperate and terrified and barely breathing, he tried with everything he had just to get away.
The bedroom. He was in Tom’s bedroom. Swallowing hard and willing his mind to work fast, he jumped and rolled across the surface of the bed, crouching down low on the other side. He was still gasping for breath, and his heartbeat was so fucking loud…
A light appeared in the doorway. Alex held his breath, only dimly aware of how little his body wanted the oxygen all of a sudden. He became very aware of the gun tucked away in his belt. If he could get the jump on Harry, he could aim at a non-lethal but temporarily debilitating place on his body, and he could-
A step forward. Followed by another. Alex held himself so still that his muscles started to hurt and his back began to ache. Harry took another step.
Then he turned the light of his helmet off.
Panic flared up in the pit of Alex’s stomach again. Harry knew the game. If he couldn’t see Alex, then he didn’t want Alex to see him, either. Harry took another step, and the second his boot hit the floor, Alex felt a sense of inevitability and dread wash over him, as though he’d already lost. Sucking in a breath through gritted teeth, he slowly closed his eyes, trying to focus more on the sounds of the room. Harry knew where he was. He didn’t know how he knew that, or how Harry could possibly know, but he did. Alex slowly reached behind himself for his pistol as more footsteps filled the room.
The light was on him again. Directly on him. Alex cautiously opened his eyes and raised his head, only to find Harry Warden looming over him. For some reason, though, he wasn’t scared. Maybe his adrenaline had finally completely taken over or something, or maybe he just didn’t want to give Harry the satisfaction of seeing him scared, he wasn’t entirely sure. But he stared into that lifeless mask with an even expression, not even flinching when Harry raised his axe.
“Tom,” Alex said suddenly in a matter-of-fact tone.
And much to his surprise, Harry actually hesitated. Feeling strangely optimistic, Alex rose to his feet, holding his hands out in front of himself in a non-threatening way.
“Tom,” he repeated gently, unwavering. “It’s me, Alex. You know me.”
He didn’t move. So Alex decided to push his luck.
“Listen to me, Tom,” he pressed. His voice was calm and even, and it gradually hardened until his words came out as an order. “You need to get in control. Whatever happened, it’s over now. Harry’s back, but you’re better than him, and you are about to kill me. You need to get in control.”
He lowered his axe.
“You don’t want to do this,” Alex finished.
Seconds that lasted too long in silence that was too loud gripped at Alex’s heart. Despite his outer countenance, every inch of him wanted to run away as fast as he possibly could.
“No,” he heard the man behind the mask finally say. “I really do, you meddlesome little shit.”
Before Alex could react, something large and sharp ripped through his stomach. All the air left his lungs at once, and his balance slipped out from underneath him. He was sure he didn’t hit anything, but it felt like his head had smacked back against something solid. He wanted to vomit, he wanted to cry, he wanted to scream, but he found that he didn’t have the strength to do any of those things. The room was black and nothing made sense, but Alex dimly understood that he was leaning forward against Harry’s arm, and that it was the only thing keeping him on his feet.
Harry’s body was so warm, and he was so strong and solid and sturdy. It was oddly comforting.
Harry’s body.
Harry’s.
Harry.
No. He could kill Alex if he wanted, but there was no way in hell he was going to win over Tom, too.
With a weak arm and tingling fingers, Alex yanked the pistol from his belt. As Harry pulled the pickaxe from its place in Alex’s body, he used the leverage from his descent backwards, raised his hand, and, not really aiming, he pulled the trigger.
Alex hit the ground on his side hard, just barely able to catch glimpse of Harry clawing at his own throat. The masked man stumbled backwards a few steps before collapsing completely, sputtering and coughing wetly. He thrashed about a bit, flailing and struggling to breathe and get back on his feet, but eventually the gurgling sucking sounds died away completely.
Lucky shot. Alex would’ve laughed if he could have. But as it turned out, no matter how desperately or deeply he tried to force air into his body, none of it ever seemed to reach his lungs. He couldn’t feel his own legs anymore. His sense of direction was gone.
With his very last ounce of strength, he forced his communicator from his front pocket and pressed the button, choking out one final word:
“…he…l…p…”
((ooc: Feel free to join in. Come one, come all, track these bitches down after hearing the message on Alex's communicator. Come save my poor bb from bleeding out, and take that corpse out of here! It's stinking up the place.
Don't expect me to tag you guys back, though. I can't tag you with an incapacitated character-- it's up to you guys to interact once you're there!))
Where: The edge of the world
When: Shortly after Elle's death
Summary: Cain kills Abel and so the chapter closes on our little murder mystery...
Rating: PG 13?
Alex steeled his nerves as he reached for the knob of Tom’s front door. He shouldn’t have let it go. He shouldn’t have let Tom go. It was stupid, and he was a pathetic goddamn failure for it, and now he was paying the price. Rion had contacted Claire not long ago and gave a more accurate description of the killer, and every doubt that Harry Warden was back had finally vanished. He should’ve acted quicker, and he knew that he should’ve, but it didn’t matter anymore. Elle was dead. Elle was dead because Alex didn’t trust his gut feeling enough-because he didn’t trust himself enough. Because he was too fucking broken and worthless and-
There was a time and place for thoughts like this. They weren’t here nor now. Right now, he had to capture Tom, and put an end to this once and for all.
He slowly pushed his way inside, gritting his teeth at the way the door hinges squealed and the old worn-down floorboards creaked under his boots. The entire house was almost completely black with night, and that detail alone sent up a red flag. Tom always had candles lit when it got dark out. Always. The second Alex closed the door behind him, he immediately wished he hadn’t. His head instantly spun with memories-some physical, some sensory, some not-from the Grand Hotel in Silent Hill: long hallways, broken rooms, overturned chairs, and discarded furniture. Tom’s house didn’t have mold, and Alex knew it didn’t, but he could still smell it so strongly that he even could taste it. He felt the glands in his throat swell as he suppressed the urge to vomit, and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end as he took another step forward. There was something in this house-something dangerous and evil, something that wanted him dead and would never stop hunting him until he was.
That thing was Tom.
Swallowing hard, he continued his trek forward. His footfalls were heavy on the hardwood floor, and anyone anywhere in the house could hear them if they were paying even the slightest bit attention. With a shaky hand, he hesitantly reached out in front of him. Tom could be hiding anywhere in this place, and Alex couldn’t see two feet in front of his face. In the back of his mind, he played with the idea of taking his communicator out of his pocket and using the faint light from the device as a guide, but he quickly decided against it. It was the same tactic he’d used in Silent Hill; he may not have been able to see great himself, but it also meant that the enemy couldn’t see him, either. He paused at that. Tom wasn’t the enemy. Why would he think something like that?
“Tom?” he called out softly. It was more like a loud whisper. He took a few more steps forward, using the hand he kept on the wall for support. “Tom?”
A light came on behind him. It was faint, but it was far-reaching, similar to that of a dying flashlight. It swept past his immediate area before focusing on his back. It had to be Tom. So why wasn’t he saying anything? Was he scared? Alex turned around-
-just in time to catch glimpse of something flying at his face.
He threw himself to the ground pathetically, just barely dodging out of the way before he heard something heavy crash into the wall behind him. His mind was swimming with the sudden rush of adrenaline, and a sense of primal terror touched at the back of his eyes. Turning his head to look upwards, he gasped loudly at the sight of crumbling drywall that fell free from the pickaxe protruding from it. The man holding the weapon wasn’t Tom; he was covered head to toe in mining gear, including the mask. Alex wouldn’t have even been able to notice if the man hadn’t turned the light of his helmet on.
But Harry was back. And he was pissed.
The sound of scraping and crumbling hit Alex’s ears, and he immediately scrambled to his feet, heading towards the back of the house. He was armed. Alex had a pistol tucked in the back of his jeans and a knife hidden in his right boot, but he didn’t want to do anything that might hurt Tom. His best friend was still living somewhere in that body. He knew it was. But it was something that became easier and easier to forget as the sound of heavy boots hitting the floor behind him echoed off the walls. Even and unhurried, they still grew louder and louder with every footfall. Alex’s stomach tightened. Harry was catching up.
The light hit his back again. It came upon him so suddenly that it was blinding. Alex raised a hand to shield his eyes, not seeing the chair propped up against the side of his wall, blocking his path. He heard it before he felt it-the collision of wood on wood clattering together as the thing fell to the ground, entangling his leg with it. His balance slipped, but he caught himself on the nearby doorframe, pulling himself around the bend and into the next room.
Just as the scenery changed, a strong hand gripped at Alex’s wrist, yanked him back out into the hallway. He felt his back slam against the wall and the back of his head knock against it, sending a shockwave down the entire length of his spine. The light from Harry’s mining helmet was right in his face now, and the second he dared to crack his eyes open the slightest bit, he was forced to turn his head away. Alex’s heart was pounding in his chest so loudly he thought that Harry could hear it, and so insistently he was sure it was going to explode right there in his chest. It was only then he started to notice that sharp pain in his right shin.
The leather of Harry’s gloves was soft, smooth, and not entirely unpleasant against Alex’s skin. Strong fingers wrapped around his neck, just tight enough to pin him back against the wall. Of course he would drag this out; Harry probably hated Alex more than anyone else in World’s End. His grip tightened. Alex kicked back against the wall as he felt his feet leave the ground, trying desperately to regain his footing.
Had Tom always been this strong?
And suddenly, Alex’s throat closed. Panic grabbed at the back of his skull as his body started to understand that it was dying. He could feel his lungs beating desperately at his throat, at his neck, trying to open the passage back up, frantic to get the air back.
In a last ditch effort, his brain flipped its final emergency switch. Without feeling himself move, Alex reached into his boot, ripped his knife from its place, and drove it into the back of Harry’s wrist. The masked man immediately reeled backwards, and Alex dropped his knife as he scurried out of the hallway again, into the closest door. His body was in full flight mode now, and he just wanted to run, wanted to leave, needed to just go. Desperate and terrified and barely breathing, he tried with everything he had just to get away.
The bedroom. He was in Tom’s bedroom. Swallowing hard and willing his mind to work fast, he jumped and rolled across the surface of the bed, crouching down low on the other side. He was still gasping for breath, and his heartbeat was so fucking loud…
A light appeared in the doorway. Alex held his breath, only dimly aware of how little his body wanted the oxygen all of a sudden. He became very aware of the gun tucked away in his belt. If he could get the jump on Harry, he could aim at a non-lethal but temporarily debilitating place on his body, and he could-
A step forward. Followed by another. Alex held himself so still that his muscles started to hurt and his back began to ache. Harry took another step.
Then he turned the light of his helmet off.
Panic flared up in the pit of Alex’s stomach again. Harry knew the game. If he couldn’t see Alex, then he didn’t want Alex to see him, either. Harry took another step, and the second his boot hit the floor, Alex felt a sense of inevitability and dread wash over him, as though he’d already lost. Sucking in a breath through gritted teeth, he slowly closed his eyes, trying to focus more on the sounds of the room. Harry knew where he was. He didn’t know how he knew that, or how Harry could possibly know, but he did. Alex slowly reached behind himself for his pistol as more footsteps filled the room.
The light was on him again. Directly on him. Alex cautiously opened his eyes and raised his head, only to find Harry Warden looming over him. For some reason, though, he wasn’t scared. Maybe his adrenaline had finally completely taken over or something, or maybe he just didn’t want to give Harry the satisfaction of seeing him scared, he wasn’t entirely sure. But he stared into that lifeless mask with an even expression, not even flinching when Harry raised his axe.
“Tom,” Alex said suddenly in a matter-of-fact tone.
And much to his surprise, Harry actually hesitated. Feeling strangely optimistic, Alex rose to his feet, holding his hands out in front of himself in a non-threatening way.
“Tom,” he repeated gently, unwavering. “It’s me, Alex. You know me.”
He didn’t move. So Alex decided to push his luck.
“Listen to me, Tom,” he pressed. His voice was calm and even, and it gradually hardened until his words came out as an order. “You need to get in control. Whatever happened, it’s over now. Harry’s back, but you’re better than him, and you are about to kill me. You need to get in control.”
He lowered his axe.
“You don’t want to do this,” Alex finished.
Seconds that lasted too long in silence that was too loud gripped at Alex’s heart. Despite his outer countenance, every inch of him wanted to run away as fast as he possibly could.
“No,” he heard the man behind the mask finally say. “I really do, you meddlesome little shit.”
Before Alex could react, something large and sharp ripped through his stomach. All the air left his lungs at once, and his balance slipped out from underneath him. He was sure he didn’t hit anything, but it felt like his head had smacked back against something solid. He wanted to vomit, he wanted to cry, he wanted to scream, but he found that he didn’t have the strength to do any of those things. The room was black and nothing made sense, but Alex dimly understood that he was leaning forward against Harry’s arm, and that it was the only thing keeping him on his feet.
Harry’s body was so warm, and he was so strong and solid and sturdy. It was oddly comforting.
Harry’s body.
Harry’s.
Harry.
No. He could kill Alex if he wanted, but there was no way in hell he was going to win over Tom, too.
With a weak arm and tingling fingers, Alex yanked the pistol from his belt. As Harry pulled the pickaxe from its place in Alex’s body, he used the leverage from his descent backwards, raised his hand, and, not really aiming, he pulled the trigger.
Alex hit the ground on his side hard, just barely able to catch glimpse of Harry clawing at his own throat. The masked man stumbled backwards a few steps before collapsing completely, sputtering and coughing wetly. He thrashed about a bit, flailing and struggling to breathe and get back on his feet, but eventually the gurgling sucking sounds died away completely.
Lucky shot. Alex would’ve laughed if he could have. But as it turned out, no matter how desperately or deeply he tried to force air into his body, none of it ever seemed to reach his lungs. He couldn’t feel his own legs anymore. His sense of direction was gone.
With his very last ounce of strength, he forced his communicator from his front pocket and pressed the button, choking out one final word:
“…he…l…p…”
((ooc: Feel free to join in. Come one, come all, track these bitches down after hearing the message on Alex's communicator. Come save my poor bb from bleeding out, and take that corpse out of here! It's stinking up the place.
Don't expect me to tag you guys back, though. I can't tag you with an incapacitated character-- it's up to you guys to interact once you're there!))