back in my Evan Peters era, (Colin Zabel has me in a VICE GRIP)
been doing some writing, buuuut for now- made some playlists thought some of you peters lovers would enjoy. If you’ve got any song suggestions for these let me know. ✨Will update this with more playlists soon✨
no lube, no protection, all night, all day, from the kitchen floor to the toilet seat, from the dining table to the bedroom, from the bathroom sink to the shower, from the front porch to the balcony, vertically, horizontally, quadratic, exponential, logarithmic, while I gasp for air, scream and see the light, missionary, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, doggy, backwards, sideways, upside down, on the floor, in the bed, on the couch, on a chair, being carried against the wall, outside, in a train, on a plane, in the car, on a motorcycle, the the bed of a truck, on a trampoline, in a bounce house, in the pool, bent over, in the basement, against the window, have the most toe curling, back arching, leg shaking, dick throbbing, fist clenching, ear ringing, mouth drooling, ass clenching, nose sniffling, eye watering, eye rolling, hip thrusting, earthquaking, sheet gripping, knuckles cracking, jaw dropping, hair pulling, teeth jitterbug, mind blogging, soul snatching, overstimulating, vile, sloppy,moan inducing, heart wrenching, spine tingling, back breaking, atrocious,gushy, creamy, beastly, lip biting, gravity defying, nail biting, sweaty, feet kicking, mind blowing, body shivering, orgasmic, bone breaking, world ending, black hole creating, universe destroying, devious, scrumptious, amazing, delightful, delectable, unbelievable, body numbing, bark worthy, can't walk, head nodding, soul evaporating, volcano erupting, sweat rolling, voice cracking, trembling, sheets soaked, hair drenched, flabbergasting, lip locking, skin peeling, eyelash removing, eye widening, pussy popping, nail scratching, back cuts, spectacular, brain cell desolving, hair ripping, show stopping, magnificent, unique, extraordinary, slendid, phenomenal, mouth foaming, heavenly, awakening, devils tango ever bro could cause a nuclear bomb inside me and I'd still ride.
⚠️Warnings: NSFW (18+, MDNI), choking, dubious consent, rough sex Michael himself is a warning, proofread but I'm human⚠️
Figured it was time I take on the old man. There's not nearly enough fanfiction out there for Peepaw. Is it over 6k? Yes. Is it self indulgent? Probably. Is it smut? Eventually.(there's some serious plot leading up) Needlessly romantic? Absolutely.
You stretched your arms out while simultaneously releasing yet another yawn. This was night two of staying up far later than planned, but insomnia had an unrelenting hold on you. Finally, it seemed it was losing its battle. Your eyes were heavy, your body the same as your yawns followed one after the other. A glass of water was all you needed, then you'd call it a night. You enjoyed the soft thud your feet made on the wooden floors, the usual pitter pattering muffled by a pair of fluffy socks you'd dawned. However, you were regretting your decision in not throwing on that pair of sweatpants before you came downstairs, it was rigidly cold, even indoors that night. Your oversized hoodie did little to protect you from the chill in the air.
You opened a cabinet, grabbed the first cup your hand landed on and brought it over to the filter in the sink. A sigh escaped you as you watched the little stream take it's sweet time filling it. Your foot had just begun to tap impatiently, it was so close to being filled, when a loud thump on the side door startled you. You dropped the cup, thankful that it landed in the sink, saving you from any mess. From where you stood, you couldn't see any movement out the little window on the door. You briefly regretted your decision not to turn on any lights as you stared, frozen in place waiting for any indication that someone was there. After a few moment's silence, the tightness in your chest dissipated and you let out the breath you'd been holding. Probably just a cat, you thought to yourself before you turned, foregoing your drink to retreat to the comfort of your room sooner rather than later. You hadn't even made it halfway up the stairs when yet another thud stopped you, followed by the sound of glass shattering. Your breath hitched and without thinking, you turned to scurry back downstairs, completely defenseless. In the shadows, you could just barely make out a figure. The only thing that was clearly visible, due to the faint gleam of moonlight, was his masked face. It was white, or it had been at some point and the eyes were two pitch black voids that seemed to be focused on the floor underneath his boots. As your eyes adjusted, you could make out a few more details, some that explained why he simply just stood there; he was injured. His hand, which was missing a couple of fingers and poorly bandaged, rested on his abdomen, clutching a wound that was still bleeding. His other hand seemed to be in just as bad a state, he'd broke the glass window with it to open the door from inside, rendering it bloodied as well. As he shakily lifted his head, those dark voids refocused their attention on you. You drew an uneasy breath, fearful of what he might do now that he'd discovered your presence. It felt like an eternity under his black gaze with only the sound of his uneven and ragged breath to break the dense silence that had settled in your kitchen, but finally something gave. He collapsed, you however stayed put for a moment more, unsure of what exactly you should do. The fact that he had a mask on wasn't entirely strange, it was Halloween after all, but he did break into your house. Perhaps he needed help? You could only hope that was his intention and he hadn't moved a muscle since he'd fallen, so with immense hesitation, you approached him. 'Intimidating' described him perfectly, even as he lay unconscious and face first on the ground. He wasn't a small man, not in the slightest. He must have been well over six feet tall from what you surmised, which meant he wouldn't be easy to move, but if you wanted to inspect his wounds you'd have to find a way. You tentatively placed a hand on his back, because if you were being honest, you weren't quite sure if he was even alive. He was, the soft whistle of breath through that mask of his and the subtle way his back rose and fell which each weak one he took confirmed that much.
"Fuck," you whispered as you contemplated how exactly you were going to turn him over, "you're not gonna make this easy on me, are you?"
You put all your strength into it and, after dropping him a few times, you managed to flip him over, "Sorry," you muttered after he'd landed on his back harder than expected.
You resisted the urge to study the face hidden behind the mask and focused your attention on his injuries, which were worse than you'd previously thought. Blood had turned the blue cloth he wore blacker than the eyes of his mask. You carefully pulled some of the fabric back to discover it was bullets than had torn through him. You winced at the sight, it wasn't something you'd be able to help much with, but you intended to do your best after at least calling for an ambulance. With that thought in mind, you stood to retrieve the first aid kit you never thought you'd have a use for and your cellphone. You wondered if he'd disappear while you had your back turned, half hoping he was simply a figment of your tired imagination, but when you returned he was still there and real as ever. You quickly dialed the emergency line, deciding to leave out the part that painted him as an intruder. You were still intent on not assuming the worst and he needed help, or so you thought. Once you hung up, you knelt down beside him again and carefully unzipped the coveralls he wore. You cursed yourself for blushing at the sight of his bare chest. He was older, the small patch of gray hair made that clear, but he didn't lack for definition despite his age. He was unreasonably built, something you fought to ignore but ultimately failed, hence the heat that had risen to your face. You gently pressed the rag to his wound and heard his breath falter at the sudden pressure, but he remained still as you cleaned him. You couldn't quite tell if he was awake, it didn't seem to matter how intently you studied those black holes, you couldn't see anything behind them to determine consciousness. But he was conscious and beyond disturbed at the predicament he found himself in, so much so that he hadn't a clue of what to do other than observe.
After you set the rag down, that mask had your full attention. The more you studied it, the more intrigued you became. It looked familiar, but you couldn't quite figure out why. You searched silently for a reason to justify what you were about to do as your hand moved closer to its edge. It would be easier for him to breathe without it on, you thought to yourself as your fingers grazed the rubber, but the moment you started to pull on it, his hand flew up to grab yours. He sat up, but doubled over as soon as he did and his grip on your wrist tightened.
"No- I'm sorry. Don't move, okay? You're hurt," you said, stumbling over your words as he flinched away from your other hand that went to his shoulder to steady him, "I just thought it'd be easier to breathe without it."
Michael's consciousness was an effort to keep, but he was aware enough to have heard what you said and it left him more than confused. The house had been so dark, he assumed it was empty, a safe place for him to rest while he waited for his strength to return. He didn't expect to find you standing there and when he did he had every intention to slaughter you, but the bullets Laurie had put in him had stripped him of that opportunity. His head whipped around for his knife while you watched, assuming he was just confused and unaware of where exactly he'd passed out.
"An ambulance should be here soon. I got you cleaned up, but you're gonna need more help than I can offer," you said, forcing his attention back to you, "you should rest though, until they get here."
Without hesitation, he shot up, entirely ignoring your suggestion and the throbbing pain in his abdomen, "Whoa, hey, what are you doing?"
Your words had little effect on him, which you soon learned as you watched him stride towards the door he'd entered from. You quickly followed behind, baffling him further. Usually, it was him who did the chasing.
"You can wait here, you don't have to-"
Naive, he thought to himself. Naive and completely out of your depth is what he made of you, but perhaps that kindness you'd shown a monster like himself was exactly what had saved your life, for now at least. He had no choice but to leave you, he'd had more than enough run ins with the authorities for one Halloween night and he knew they'd arrive any minute. He found his knife by the door and bent down to retrieve it, which was what stopped any further words from leaving your mouth. Your abrupt silence gave him pause and he turned his head slightly to find the horror of realization painted on your face. Your eyes were focused on the blade in his hand that had been decorated in red. The moonlight allowed its gleam to inform you that it was no prop, it was as real as your own blood that had run cold in your veins. It was your breath that was shaky now.
"Who are you?" You whispered.
He left you without an answer and that was weeks ago. Wondering was exactly what Michael wanted you to do and unbeknownst to you, you played along so nicely. He hadn't gone far, in fact he'd returned several times to catch you immersing yourself in his story. The night he met you, you never slept. You sat in bed with a blanked wrapped tightly around you as you listened to the details of what the man who'd broken into your home had done, of what he was. The answers you received from headlines only raised more confusion within yourself, because your name wasn't on his long list of victims. He spared you and that fact had you torn. Part of you wanted to let it go, be grateful that the shadow of death had so kindly passed over you, but there was another part that desperately wanted to know why. That part of you brought on more questions, but ones about yourself, more specifically, your own self preservation, because you wanted him to return. Sure, maybe it was simply time that was to blame, you'd called the authorities and he was a killer. He had to flee to avoid capture, but they still hadn't gotten him, he was still loose and he hadn't come back to finish you off. From what you'd learned, no one crossed Michael Myers' path and lived to tell the tale, you were alone in that. You were the first he'd left completely unscathed and unattended to, or so you thought. But Michael hadn't left you alone, not at all. He kept quite a close eye on you and with questions of his own, because in leaving you alive to wonder, he'd confused himself. The more he studied you, the worse it got. At first, it was a game, the same one he always played. The kill was always more satisfying when he had a bit of history on the subject at hand, but learning about you had become problematic. He never waited this long to strike, but you had made him hesitate. Somehow, you'd gotten to him and he couldn't seem to rid himself of the memory of you touching him. Perhaps it was because no one had before, not so gently. They'd certainly never apologized for hurting him as you had when you tended to his wounds. You cared about his well-being, it mattered to you that night. Enough so that you went out of your way to save him. He would have survived without your assistance, but it was the thought that counted, you thought about him in a way that no one ever had before. Now, you searched for him, unabashedly. He knew you weren't just gazing out of your window for the sake of it, you wanted to find him. He wondered if you a had a sixth sense, because he was always there, hidden in the shadows your eyes wandered to after the street lights turned on. You'd even begun to leave it open once you'd gone to bed, something that really piqued his curiosity. What would you do if he found his way in, what would you do if he gave you what you wanted and showed himself? Would you run or would he find himself in a situation in which he was the one who was out of his depth? Michael had gone his entire adult life without worrying about such things and he hated that finally, he'd been caught in such a trap. He wanted to hate you for it, but when you appeared in your window again and locked eyes with him in the darkness without even knowing it, he couldn't. He wanted to find one, just one single flaw that he could latch onto, but he couldn't and it ate at him. You were perfect, infuriatingly so. The way you moved haunted him in the most unexpected of ways and you were so young, so full of life that he should have wanted to drain, but death was so far removed from what he wanted to give you. His brow furrowed underneath his tattered mask as he contemplated it, because in truth, he hadn't a clue what exactly it was he wanted from you, he just knew it was you that he wanted and it was driving him to madness, to discomfort he'd never felt in all his life.
You disappeared from his view, retreating into shadows yourself once you decided he wasn't there. That was when he began to move unconsciously towards the door he'd entered through before. His heart pounded within his chest as he drew closer, unsure of what he would do once he was face to face with you again, but he needed to be, there was no question about that any longer. More than that, he needed to know what you would do, if you were different from the rest and if you could give him rest from the turmoil you'd caused within his mind, body and if he had one, soul. The house was dark, just as it had been the first time he arrived, only now, the door was unlocked. An invitation, he thought to himself with further intrigue. You did want him there, you must have, because who in their right mind left their house open for entry with a killer on the loose? He ought to teach you a lesson, but then again, no one was more of a threat than he was and he didn't intend to leave you unattended. If you wanted to leave your doors unlocked, so be it, but he would be your only visitor if he got his way and really, didn't he always?
His hand glided along the kitchen counter as he steadily made his way to the stairs, pausing at the bottom to study the stream of light that bathed the blackened hallway above in an eerie orange glow. His head tilted when it went out, leaving you entrapped in darkness. The sixth sense he suspected you had only became more prominent, he breathed easier without light to touch him and you had turned it off. Further invitation, of course, so he took the first step, then another. The faint creak of the wooden boards didn't seem to alert you to his presence, the light stayed absent and he appeared in your doorway to find you settled in bed. Sleep hadn't found you yet, but he had and you stirred when you felt the unease brought about by an unknown gaze lingering on your body. At first, the shadows all but consumed him, then his figure became clearly visible. Just an outline, tall and broad, but you recognized him.
Slowly, you propped yourself up with eyes that were wide open. You wanted this, but now he was here and you hadn't a clue of what to do, or what he would do. Words escaped you, but you didn't fear his silence this time nor the deafening hum that sat heavily between the two of you. It was energy, an unspoken desire to be near to each other was what it was, you knew that now without a doubt in your mind. He'd come back, just as you hoped he would, but for what purpose and why was it you had wanted him to?
Your legs slid off the side of the bed until your bare toes met the cold wooden floor below. He'd yet to move, so you tested the limits of what he would allow. His eyes, unseen, studied those carefully made movements closely. There was no distance to dull your actions anymore and he soaked each one in as he watched you stand, fascinated. He didn't have to hear it to know your heart was racing within your much smaller frame, you were prey approaching a predator, but it wasn't fear he found in your curious eyes, it was awe. As if he was just as unreal to you as you were him. His head lowered with his gaze, because now you truly were face to face. Your neck in turn craned up as you listened to that familiar whistle of breath through his mask.
"Michael," you whispered up at him.
He rushed forward so abruptly you didn't even have time to scream. He backed you against the wall, but didn't touch you, not right away. He simply stood there, shoulders heaving, head down in front of you. His breath was uneven and his fists were clenched tightly at his sides as if it was an arduous struggle to withhold himself.
But from what? You thought as you stood there silently searching for the answer you'd clearly die to retrieve. He didn't have his knife, at least not within his grasp or reach. His hands were his only weapons and he hadn't even used those on you, not in the way you had expected. Your hands remained at your side, unmoving and his gaze dipped to one. His breath evened as he studied it contemplatively, his shoulders stilled and he seemed puzzled, or so you assumed. Hesitantly, he reached for one. His fingers grazed your skin, slowly grappling for more purchase. Finally, he hooked one of them with yours and brought it to the other. He brought it up and you watched, confused as he traced the lines on your palm that were visible to him in the moonlight. The cool glow even allowed you to catch a glimpse of those eyes you'd searched for the last time he was in your home. One was an eerie, milky white, left without sight from one of the many wounds he'd gathered throughout the years. The other was the lightest of blue, icy in color, but there was warmth hidden somewhere inside that fought through as he allowed himself to fall prey to your touch once more. It was his choice this time, he was very aware as he pressed his palm to yours. Delicate and dangerous were the only two words that came to Michael's mind, because though you couldn't overpower him physically, he felt weakened in ways more damning than bodily wounds.
"Why are you here?"
Your whispered words did little to distract him from the dilemma he held in his hands. If anything, he should have been asking you that question. Why were you stillhere, allowing him to dive further into obsession, destroying everything he knew to be true about himself with just the tips of your fingers? It was cruel and unjust that someone like yourself, someone so small and seemingly insignificant held such power over him. It was infuriating, maddening and he wondered if you knew as his eyes met yours only to melt further. You didn't look away, no, instead you matched his intensity with brows that were furrowed in curiosity. That uncomfortable pounding in his chest returned and what he could only assume was rage forced his breath to quicken again, but then you intertwined your fingers with his, which made everything stop all at once.
"Are you going to kill me?"
The answer to that question was what frightened him most. Without warning, he ripped his hand from yours along with his gaze and turned to disappear down the hallway. It was an unforgivable mistake on his part to return to you, that much was certain, because no, he wasn't going to kill you. In fact, the encounter hadn't given him a single answer as to what he wanted with you, it only worsened his confusion and brought about doubt of himself. Perhaps he did have a weakness, a living, breathing one. He needed to escape it, kill whatever it was inside of him that betrayed him so wickedly. Your footsteps behind him made him grit his teeth as he strode through the door he'd left open to leave you to the night, but your hand found his wrist before he could vanish.
"Wait," you demanded.
The sudden and unwelcome contact forced his instinct back to the surface and before you could blink, you were forced back into your kitchen with a hand around your neck. The wind was knocked out of you when your back hit the counter and you squeezed your eyes shut, afraid that perhaps you'd finally crossed that thin line you'd been treading on since the moment you met him, but his grip didn't tighten. He watched you brace yourself and in turn, crumbled at the sight. Prey, he thought to himself, you were supposed to look just as you were with his hand around your throat. You were supposed to be frightened, you were supposed to beg for your life and yet, when your trembling hands met his wrist, it was the last thing he wanted you to do. It wasn't that he didn't want to hear you beg, he did, but he wasn't quite sure what for as he had you pinned with his own body pressed against you. He'd seen this dance before, but it wasn't one he ever bothered to learn. Human touch such as this for Michael only ended death, he'd never been forced to consider any other use for his hands. He thought back to his own worries earlier that night and realized he was indeed out of his depth, just as he was afraid he would be. He had you exactly where he wanted you, but what now? His head canted to the side as he watched your chest rise and fall in quick succession. Your eyes were still glued shut, anticipating death, but death had a different idea. The safety of darkness still surrounded the two of you and with your eyes refusing to open, Michael lifted his mask up. You felt his fingers brush your jaw and inch their way into your hair to hold the back of you head, then you felt something else. A kiss was what he gave you, gentle and inexperienced, but in his softness you received the answer you'd searched so diligently for. He lingered there for a moment, stunned by his own actions and more so when you returned them. You kept your hands on his wrist and kept them still, aware that this was his limit, this was all he could handle for the time being, but you guided him in your wordless response. Your lips pressed firmer against him, you moved slowly, but deepened it with each press. His hand began to tangle in your locks, clenching as his mind screamed for release, for violence. It was an effort to fight off those instincts, but he did so valiantly just for a few more moments of this, of softness, of you. You carefully lifted your hand to place it over his, which still rested at the back of your head, fingers knitted tightly in your hair. He relented, just slightly, but when you let out that soft sigh, it was too much. It was too intimate and just like that, his lips left you as did his hand. When you opened your eyes you were alone, as if his touch had simply been a dream all along. The only evidence of reality was the door, which he'd left ajar to leave you with nothing but the sound of wind to fill his absence.
Questions were what he'd left the first time, but now, it was frustration that consumed you in his wake. You'd gotten an answer, in a sense. He didn't want to kill you, he wanted you and you kept it safely hidden within the walls of your pericardium that he wasn't alone in his desire. He left you wanting, wishing and waiting for a killer to return and finish what he'd started, for him to claim you as his own. The mere thought had you unraveling, because what on earth was wrong with you? Why had you allowed such a thing to happen in the first place? Why did you kiss him? More importantly, why did you love every second of it? His lack of experience hadn't dulled the sensations he forced upon you, if anything it enhanced them. Haddonfield's reaper had chosen you and spared you the scythe for a kiss, one you couldn't seem to stop from popping into your mind at the most inconvenient times. It haunted you and it stripped you of each and every one of the morals you thought you'd had, based on one simple fact; you wanted more. However, this time months passed and you were forced to find ways to pluck him from your mind, which meant when a coworker called you up to ask if you'd like to go to dinner, you said yes. Of course, putting an end to the fantasy of Michael wasn't quite as simple as it sounded. Dinner was spent with your head on a swivel, half paranoid he'd find you and be less than pleased, half hoping he would and save you from the drab conversation you'd allowed yourself to endure for the sake of distraction. You were right to think he'd be watching and safe to say 'less than pleased' was an understatement. Jealousy was something Michael wasn't sure he'd ever felt before. In fact, he was convinced he really was starting to hate you for bringing so many emotions he didn't understand to the surface. Torture was clearly what you intended to put him through, but that was something he was well versed in and as he watched you kiss your date goodnight, he made a decision. You were indeed going to learn your lesson and if it ended in death, well, that would be your price for causing him such agony, because he didn't expect to behave gently after watching someone else's hands, someone else's lips touch what was his.
You kept your smile in place as you politely waved goodbye, but once the taillights disappeared you allowed it to fall with a groan and quickly wiped your mouth. Your date's enthusiasm for you was beyond unreciprocated, but you'd play the part well, perhaps too well. Hopefully he wouldn't call, you thought to yourself as you strolled up the walkway to your front door. You let out a sigh when you realized you'd forgotten to leave the porch light on and you had about a million keys to sift through in total darkness, of course. To make an already annoying night worse, you tripped. You managed to catch yourself, but the keys hadn't been so lucky. You bent down to retrieve them, cursing under your breath as you stood back up. You fumbled with them a moment more before finally pushing the key into the lock, but that was about as far as you got. You hadn't even heard footsteps to alert you to his presence, but suddenly, you found yourself pushed face first against the door and before you could let out a scream, a hand covered your mouth. It was familiar, the missing fingers were a dead give away. His other went to yours and forced you to turn the key. Why he'd even bothered unlocking it was a mystery, because he promptly turned you around and threw you over his shoulder before he broke the door open with brute force. Struggling was no use, he had a vice grip on your hips as he strode through the threshold with purposeful steps only to drop you on the counter.
"What the hell is your deal with me?" You spat out before you could stop yourself.
But before you even had time to regret your choice in tone, his hand was around your neck. That gentle grip he once had was lost and replaced with a menacing one that took your breath away. Your hands wrapped around his wrist with rage of your own at this cat and mouse game he was playing with you.
"M-Michael," you stuttered out with a pained expression, "whatever you're gonna do, just do it already."
You worried you'd come to regret that statement when he pushed you back on the cool marble with such force it made your head spin. His hand momentarily abandoned it's hold on you and you pushed yourself up just slightly, just enough to meet his eyes. The blue you'd once seen in his left one had turned dark, his pupil was overblown to erase any color, but it wasn't death you saw in that eerie gleam. Far from it. A different instinct had taken over and he knew exactly what he wanted to do to you. He quickly reached behind you and brandished a knife from the block on your counter. His movement's were hurried, frantic even as he tugged you forward by your hips so his waist rested between your legs. Then, he raised the knife up and you braced yourself. You must have mistaken that darkness in his eyes, it must have been bloodlust, you thought to yourself, but when he plunged it down it wasn't your flesh that tore. He'd taken it to your jeans, cutting them just enough so that when he tossed the knife behind you and grabbed each side of the fabric with his hands, he was able to rip them clean off of you. He didn't need the blade to remove the rest and now you were almost entirely exposed to him, save the top you silently resented him for destroying next. It looked expensive, Michael thought with a smirk behind his mask, but it looked much better torn to pieces. He was almost as unkind to his own clothes, he tugged the zipper of his coveralls down with such force the metal came loose and fell to the floor, leaving him free of any further confinement. You didn't even have time to glance down before he tossed on of your legs over his shoulder, pushed the other one to the side and plunged into you so deeply you feared you'd be ripped in two, just like your jeans. He allowed you no time to adjust, or catch your breath before he set an inhuman pace, one arm wrapped tightly around the leg over his shoulder and the other hand gripping your thigh hard enough to draw blood with his fingernails. He was silent, frighteningly so, while you failed to do the same. In fact, it seemed he was hell bent on making you scream, because once he found one particular spot that made your eyes roll back and your mouth hang open, he never left it. He managed to hit it each and every time he pushed into you and he relished in those gasps that quickly turned to wanton cries. Pain mingled with pleasure in a dizzying manner and you tried desperately to reach for him, to find anything to steady yourself on, but it was useless. He wanted to see you struggle and you were doing it perfectly, but if you wanted stability, he'd allow some. He stopped abruptly, bottoming out and drawing a pitiful whine from your open mouth so he could hook his fingers over your bottom teeth. With his thumb under your chin and his index and middle lodged in your mouth, he pulled you up by your jaw, the pain dulled by the overwhelming pleasure he'd pummeled your nearly limp body with. He brought you close, your half lidded eyes struggled to stay open as he lifted the bottom half of his mask up with his other hand and pressed his lips to your ear.
"Mine," he growled, low and harshly.
His breath fell hot over your bare neck, causing the ache between your legs to peak, begging for him to continue, but instead of giving you what you wanted right away, he pulled back and left you empty to readjust his mask. You whined, reaching for him before he grabbed your shoulders and turned you. He bent you over the counter and forced himself back inside of you while his hand snaked around your throat. He lifted you back up so that your back was pressed hard against his chest and the mouth of his mask was back at your ear.
"Say it," he breathed as he thrusted forward, slow but forceful.
You'd barely registered that he'd spoken the first time and now, with him buried so deeply inside of you, your cognizance was long gone. Each time he moved he seemed to go deeper, fully aware of the torture he was delivering in forcing you to hang on the edge of your orgasm. He could feel your body tensing around him, he knew you were dangerously close. Your head fell back on his shoulder as you struggled to form the response he desired.
"Yours," you whispered, but that didn't seem to satisfy him.
He thrusted harder, driving your body upwards. When your hand went to steady yourself on the counter, he grabbed it and held it tightly behind your back while the other squeezed your neck until you felt light as air. He grit his teeth, fighting off his own orgasm for the sake of punishing you further.
"Say it," he repeated with malice.
You were right there, so close to release that your mouth simply couldn't stay shut, but it wasn't breath you were so desperate for. You held it, brows furrowed in a mix of pain and pleasure so brutal you weren't entirely sure you'd survive another thrust. You felt his teeth at your neck, biting down as he let out a groan. It appeared he was in torment too, desperate in his own right to find release inside of you. His voice had driven you to madness, but those breathy moans he couldn't seem to hold in any longer were what sent you over the edge and that only made his struggle to maintain control harder. Your body pulsed so deliciously around him. You were tight enough to begin with, but now? It was too much and his head dipped lower in the crook of your neck to nip at your shoulder as his hips began to tremble from the exerted effort to keep his pace controlled. Not yet, not until he heard you say it.
"Michael," you gasped with your eyes wide open, though between the lack of oxygen and the intensity of pleasure, all you saw was white, "I'm yours, all yours. I'm yours."
Your whispered promises never stopped, they fell from your lips like little prayers and they had him spiraling. His ragged breath and the way each of his hands gripped you tighter and tighter should have broken you, but you clung to what little air he allowed for more of him. He'd long abandoned that slow, meticulous pace to chase his own high with a vengeance. His hand left your wrist and he wrapped his arm around you, pulling you flush against him when he found release. He bent forward, panting underneath his mask as he pressed you against the marble countertop.
"Yours," he heard you continue whispering and he loosened his grip on your neck.
He stayed like that for awhile, still buried deep within you and baffled by the entire ordeal, but you were so warm. No part of him wanted to separate from you or leave those little whispers behind. You felt his thumb absentmindedly brushing circles over your jaw and you supposed that must have been what brought you back to total consciousness, but you stayed still, afraid that if you moved he'd leave. His sudden softness was unexpected given the brutality he'd just displayed, but you found yourself melting into it. Between the exhaustion that had settled into your bones and the delirium that filled your head, those rough, calloused hands of his were exactly what you needed to bring you back down to earth with grace. He too was warm and you couldn't help but press your cheek into his palm, which caused his brow to furrow behind his mask. When his head withdrew from the crook of your neck, you let out a weak moan in protest, but he continued his departure from you in silence.
"Michael," he heard you mutter softly as he struggled through his own haze to gather himself.
He paused to observe your wrecked state. You still hadn't moved a muscle and he wasn't entirely sure you could even if you wanted to. He'd annihilated you, had you for his own and he should leave now. Right?
"Please don't leave me," you whispered.
You didn't expect him to oblige your simple request, you knew he'd already far surpassed his limits. You were killing him, he thought to himself and in such a strange way. It was instinct you'd stolen along with something else he supposed he did have after all, because as he watched you try and fail to push yourself up, it skipped a beat. He was aware he could blame it on age or his usual pent up fury, but he knew that would be a lie. It was you. You were both a curse and a cure to the quietus that possessed him, a plague upon the heart he once thought had lost it's rhythm to violence. It was mercy you'd infected him with when you touched him, when you healed him and mercy was something so foreign to Michael, but for you, he supposed he could try to give you his own version. You hadn't the energy to even feel surprise when he took you into his arms, but you had just enough left to smile as you rested your cheek against his chest. Perhaps he'd be gone when you woke or maybe he'd stay. Either way, you were Michael's. Or was it the other way around?
Just around the corner where a kind voice had told him to go, Thomas found shelter from the storm. It was brighter, the sun peaked through the clouds more often than not as the years flew by and it kept him warm, even when the rain returned from time to time. He found a way to let it bring growth, become whole again through them. Luda and Penny had rewritten the story that Hoyt intended to haunt that house with, they erased it. The walls instead breathed happy memories, just as they were built to encapsulate. It looked different than he'd planned, the life he shared with them, but he found it had been just as fulfilling. She was in every moment and when those aches in his chest threatened to return at the thought that she should have been there, she shouldn't have missed this, that hand found it's place on his shoulder to reassure him that she knew. Somewhere, somehow, he knew that Ronnie was beaming as she watched Penny grow and grow she did. It seemed as quick as turning a page that she stood taller than Luda. It was strange how time moved and rearranged each of them in its own, slow yet painfully quick way. Luda had been her shelter, so had Tommy and in the blink of an eye, the tables had turned. Penny no longer needed shelter, she ran free from it and in her freedom, she chose to become theirs. She had taken after Thomas in that sense. She cared for them quietly, never sought out plaudits as she sat by Luda's bedside when the day came that her feet failed her. She'd stay all day sometimes, soaking in each word Luda spoke and dug deep to latch onto the wisdom she offered. She had a hunger for knowledge, for their history and she didn't shy away from the grisly details when it came time for her to hear them. She didn't allow them to shield her from it, she needed to know. Penny was very aware that she was the last member of the family, the line ended with her and she couldn't allow herself to live a life without answers, because one day her questions would be left to the wind. Luda, however required no explanation for those sometimes difficult questions she asked. She admired her desire to know the story front to back and her ability to forgive their past, much like her mother. Penny was so much like Ronnie in more ways than she'd ever know. It went beyond her physical appearance, their souls seemed to have been cut from the same cloth and sewn together by god's grace. Sometimes when she spoke, it took both of them aback. For someone who's memory of her had been stolen by age, she emulated her as if she'd spent every day beside her. He saw it clearer than ever the day Luda passed. It was in her eyes as she listened to the last few whispers Mama had to share with her. She sat there clutching her hand, stubbornly holding back tears just like Ronnie used to.
"You can cry, baby. There's strength in lettin' out," Mama said as she weakly squeezed Penny's trembling hand, "but let me see you smile one more time before I go."
It was then she lost her battle against letting them fall, but she smiled through them for Luda as her hand rested on her wet cheek. Luda had been the mother that was stolen from her, just as she'd been for Thomas and even Ronnie in the brief time they'd known each other. She had healed both of them in the years she spent with them, she was always good at mending what was broken. There was solace for each of them to find in knowing in the last few years of her life she'd been happy there, just as she deserved. They'd cared for her just as she had them and she didn't die alone as she once thought she would. They were both beside her.
"There she is," Luda said with a weak smile of her own as her eyes dutifully studied her granddaughter's image, "there's my girl. You keep on doin' that, smilin' for me, okay? And that pain you feel, right here," she reached up slowly and tapped the center of Penny's chest, "own it, baby. It's love and it's family. Death don't change that and it ain't goodbye. I'll be right here, just like your mama is."
She turned to Thomas after that and Penny lowered her head as her smile fell away again, but Luda's remained as she gazed up at her son with a fading gleam in her eyes, "And you," she whispered before she took one last deep breath, "I am so proud of you, Thomas."
She took hold of his hand as she felt that breath rattle it's way in and out of her failing lungs. She nodded her head as she felt it leave her, "So proud," she breathed out before she allowed that warm weight to fall over her tired eyes and give her rest.
Penny sobbed as he leaned forward to press a kiss to Mama's forehead, then he stood to hold his crying daughter. It hurt to lose her and he would grieve, but it was his turn to guide Penny through her sorrow. Luda's death was the first she had seen and it was exactly how it should be displayed, he knew that. She was surrounded by love, warm in her bed and ready to meet her maker. It was peace they'd witnessed and it shed a new light on death for Thomas. There was no blood, she didn't beg for mercy, she had no need to. It was quiet and there was acceptance in her heart. Thomas had never seen someone die exactly when they were supposed to, with a full life lived. It left a bittersweet ache behind, because he'd miss her always, but her story had ended without any what if's. It didn't leave guilt, Luda's legacy was tenderness and redemption, proof that everyone's worth saving if they want to be, no matter their past, even if they don't look it. He wondered if his legacy would be the same, if that look in Penny's eyes would be accepting, if he could leave her with peace. That thought crossed his mind more often than not in recent months, as did the memory of his mama's death. He found himself under that same watchful gaze Penny had given to Luda towards the end as he laid in his own bed just a few short years later.
It started slow, not too long after mama passed, the ache in his bones. After years of hard living and heavy lifting, it didn't come as a surprise to him that the unkindness with which he treated his own body had finally caught up with him, but it persisted until it left him tired, weary. He fought it off the best he could and dragged himself out of bed each morning to keep it well hidden from Penny, but not much slipped past her. Eventually, she began to insist she handle things around the house, assuring him he didn't need to worry about it, he should rest. It wasn't something Thomas was used to, there had never been a task he couldn't muscle his way through. He was quite stubborn about it, he'd grumble and force himself to his feet even if she chastised him, that was until one particular morning. He awoke before dawn from another one of the dreams he'd been plagued with for quite some time. They came with the aches and it was rare that he closed his eyes without finding himself on the road that led back home in Travis county. Ronnie was always there waving him on, encouraging him to catch up, but he never could. No matter how close he got, she remained just out of reach. He hated them to say the least, but not because of her. In Thomas' opinion, if he was going to dream he should have at least been able to find himself in her arms. That was what dreams were after all, a false reality, but his seemed to mimic what his life had been since she left it. Forever searching for her, even in sleep, but this one had left him pondering. He'd never been so close to touching her before.
When he began to stir, he winced. He was stiff and his legs creaked in rebellion at his attempts to lift himself out of bed. He let out a heavy and frustrated sigh before he finally relented. It was cruel, he thought, that the body aged before the mind. His always seemed to be a step behind and unaware or unwilling to admit that, no, he couldn't do the things he'd always been able to with such ease any longer. He'd watched it take it's toll on Mama and now, it seemed age hungered for another victim. It had its hold on Thomas and he couldn't deny it any further. He chuckled quietly to himself as he stared up at the ceiling and listened to Penny's footsteps make their way down the hallway. It didn't seem too long ago that he used to call it pitter-pattering and he would be met with her leaping on the bed to wake him with excitement. She kept them quiet now before she gently pushed the door open to check on him. It was only then that he realized the sun had risen to illuminate that knowing glint in her eyes.
"Mornin' daddy," she said softly when she noticed his eyes were open.
She made sure it clicked shut behind her before she made her way over to sit on the bed beside him, "Sleep okay?"
He shrugged and she chuckled, "Same answer as yesterday, I guess? You ever gonna give me a yes?"
When he shrugged again, they both shared a quiet laugh, which ultimately resulted in Thomas coughing. As he tried to stifle them, Penny's brow furrowed, but she was quick to hide it from him with a smile. She patted his hand once he'd gotten comfortable again and he let out a heavy sigh as he turned back to her.
"I was surprised you weren't up before me, you usually are," she said as she studied his tired face.
She had woken with a feeling he'd still be in bed. Penny had noticed he'd gotten worse in recent weeks. Even through his stoic and stubborn demeanor, he'd faltered more than once. It was subtle, he wouldn't let on to just how much pain he was truly in, but those brows of his were always a dead give away. It was a quick, slight movement that most probably missed, but Penny knew her father well. When that crease deepened and his face stiffened as he bit down on his teeth, she knew it wasn't just an unpleasant memory that had struck him. It was physical, what he felt even then as he laid there in bed. It had only gotten worse and the only explanation she could think of was his heart. It had been through a lifetime of hurt, long before she'd known him so well. Each heartbreak he suffered had weakened it and she knew that last break, losing his mother, had marked him for expiration. He had mourned quietly, as was his way, but the wound was there, not so well hidden in his silence. He had a life before Penny, a life filled with faces she had never even known and they were all gone. It made her ponder how strange it must have been for him to be the last of his family, of his past life left behind. He had memories he'd once shared with her grandmother, with her mama, that he could no longer recall with another person who'd been there to experience them with him. They were all words now, voiceless sounds, images and breath that lived inside of him and him only and it had worn on him. He was tired and Penny knew in her own heart that the only reason he kept forcing breath in and out of his lungs was for her. It didn't need to be spoken that he was terrified to leave her, Penny felt it. He had a watchful gaze of his own that had fallen heavy on her as he grew weaker. It was pained with guilt that when he went, she would be alone. She hadn't quite found the words to quell his fears, but she'd done a lot of thinking on the matter as the days ticked by and he left his bed less and less. Each time she walked down the hallway to his room, she was forced to, because sometimes she wasn't sure he'd be there when she opened the door. There had been a few mornings like this before and sometimes he didn't wake when she crept in. It never failed to send a pang through her chest that could only be rid by gluing her eyes to his sternum to be sure it rose up and down with breath. She wondered if he'd caught her, seen her own brows furrow in pain at the sight of him and if perhaps that was what caused his guilt. It only made her feel the same thinking that, because in truth, she didn't want him to suffer any longer for her. He'd suffered enough.
"You wanna just stay in here today, you and me?" She asked with a gentle smile as she rubbed his arm.
Thomas held her gaze for a moment. The somberness that had gone unspoken managed to find its way between them, but it wasn't sad. There was acceptance in both of their expressions as he nodded his head. Penny took his hand and placed it in her lap to study the thinned skin and weakened veins that ran along his bones underneath. She furrowed her brow as she recalled all the times she'd held that same hand before as a girl. Her father's skin had never been smooth, it was always rough. She used to trace the callouses on his palms and admire them, each one told a tale of strength and endurance. As her fingers brushed along them now, she realized they'd softened, some had even ceased to exist. They were smoother than they had ever been, riddled with age spots and deep blue lines. That's when tears began to creep into her eyes and her breath hitched in an attempt to stifle them, because Penny didn't recognize her father's hand. The stories had faded along with his ability to do what Thomas had always been able to do so well, endure. As much as she wanted him to rest she knew it wasn't him and it wasn't fair. Thomas had been a roaring river his whole life, vast and wide, his strength had been something truly magnificent to behold, but even the greatest of rivers meet their end sooner or later. That river in him had run dry and it's roar had been silenced by something far out of his control and just like a river, he had no choice but to watch himself recede, as did she. Penny was forced to sit on the banks and watch everything he'd been to her disappear from her reach. There was nothing she could do to give him back what he'd lost and he'd lost so much. When he took her hand in his instead, she pressed her lips together as he held it as firmly as he could to draw her attention back to him. She felt that pang of guilt again when his eyes met hers, because she hadn't hidden a damn thing from him. A sympathetic smile painted his cracked lips as he watched her force one of her own.
"I'm okay," she said quickly as she patted his hand again, this time for her own comfort as she held back that sorrow that had forced its way up her throat.
"Liar," Thomas whispered with a weak laugh.
"No, I am," Penny said as she let her head bob, even she didn't fully believe those words, though she wanted badly to, "I just- I know you're tired, daddy. I've known that for awhile."
She paused and pressed her lips together again as she contemplated letting her next words slip and after a deep breath, she did, "And I know it's 'cause of me."
Thomas furrowed his brow and started to shake his head no, but she continued, halting his movement, "You're scared to leave me."
He started to deny her claims again, but this time he stopped himself. Those words weren't a lie in the slightest, if anything what Penny had said was an understatement. Though she was a grown woman and had been for quite sometime, she was his baby. To him, she was as fragile as she'd been the day she was born and just like he'd been terrified to leave her in a crib by herself to sleep, the thought of letting the world have her to itself without his protection petrified him. He'd fight death tooth and nail before he abandoned her.
Penny watched him closely as he tried desperately to form an argument and gave him a soft smile when he ultimately let out a heavy sigh. She was right, but he hated that his own guilt had found a way to wrap her in its embrace. However, he saw a glint of resilience in her blue eyes as she studied him quietly. Penny thought of all the things he had taught her in his own silent way, even if he didn't think she was watching. He had carried on despite the hurt and he'd been her comfort, always, even when he was the one who needed it most. He needed it now, but it wasn't her hand that could give him rest.
"You've seen her, haven't you? Mama," Penny said softly.
He closed his eyes and smiled, "I see her sometimes too," Penny continued, "but, I feel her more than I see her and I've followed her footsteps. They're all around if you look real close, even after all this time and they've led me to one conclusion, that I think you and I both know's true, daddy. She never left us."
Thomas nodded his head in agreement as he opened his eyes once more to watch her with admiration. She was wise beyond her years, he knew that well, but to watch her find peace as she led him to it with her softly spoken words made him swell with pride.
"'Cause it ain't leavin'," she said as she furrowed her brow in thought, "not forever. Not for us. I think there are some things in this world that just can't be explained, love and family fall into that. Death can try and it does, but it can't take those two things away from a person. Grandma may have said it, but you taught me that."
He turned his head slightly, intrigued as her mama's smile pulled at her lips for just a moment before she continued, "You know, it's been more than twenty years since mama's been gone and I ain't seen one day go by that you haven't loved her."
Thomas felt his chest tighten. He'd lost track of time somewhere along the way and twenty years sounded so harsh. It was too long.
"You still wear your ring. You still wear her's too," she said with a nod to the necklace he'd taken to wearing with Ronnie's silver and diamond hanging from it, "more than twenty years and death still ain't won."
He smiled at the confidence with which she said those words and she had every right to have it, because it was true. Death hadn't taken her from him in the slightest. She'd been right there in his heart and in his daughter, who patted his hand once more.
"So, what makes you think he's gonna win now?"
Tears crept into his eyes as he looked up at her and ones of her own soon followed, but she smiled through them as she held on tightly to his hand, "He won't. He doesn't stand a chance, 'cause it's gonna take a whole lot more than dyin' to keep us apart. Just like you and mama."
Her voice finally broke and she let herself fall on his chest so he could wrap his arms around her. His tears fell to his lips as he pressed them to the top of her blonde head. He didn't try to stop her from crying, she could rest on him as long as she needed. She clutched his shirt and felt the way her tears stained the cloth under her cheek, but she didn't move, not just yet. She wanted to remember this, the way it felt to have her father's arms around her, to feel him pat her back to let her know it was okay. She needed to remember the way his heart sounded underneath her ear, soothing her with it's heavy beat, just as it used to when she was a child. She couldn't have asked for a better father, she loved him so dearly and she could be strong for him, she knew she could. It would just take some time.
"It ain't goodbye, so we're not gonna say it," she said in her broken voice against his chest, "but I love you, daddy. I love you and I'm so glad I had you for as long as I did, I'm so glad it was you and I. You never gave up on me and you ain't givin' up now, I know that. You're just goin' home."
Thomas held her tighter then, as tight as his arms would allow and breathed her in. Penny had been just as much apart of his salvation as Ronnie was. The moment he laid eyes on her all those years ago, tiny and fragile, he had changed, softened in ways that had given him a new kind of strength. She had been a beacon of hope in that dingy basement and she remained thus through his darkest days. She had shown him how to live, when it was the last thing he wanted to do, she had been his reason. Watching her grow was a blessing he never imagined he would obtain and he didn't want to let that go, he didn't want to miss a thing that her life had to offer. So Thomas held his baby, his Penny, as tight as he could and he cursed time, because it had gone too fast.
"Penny," he whispered into her hair before she lifted her head to look at him.
With his thumb, he reached up to wipe away her tears, then he let his palm rest against her cheek. She leaned into it and closed her eyes as she inhaled deeply to calm herself down. When she opened them, he smiled. He wondered if that's how Luda had always looked at him, the way he looked at her then. He still saw that little girl with the messy braid and boots that were far too big for her small feet. He still saw those big blue eyes that had saved him from damnation that night, innocent and wide, looking to her daddy for guidance, for comfort.
"You were my silver lining," Thomas whispered, "and you will find yours."
She rested her hand over his and pressed it harder against her cheek as she let the rest of her tears out. With his other hand, he pressed his index to the center of her chest, where he knew well it hurt the most.
"Own it," he said as he tapped his finger against her skin, just as Luda once had.
Penny sniffled, but nodded her head firmly before she took his hand and kissed his palm. She took a deep breath before she looked back at him.
"I am," she said quietly, "I will. It's just gonna hurt for a little while."
Thomas nodded, "Just a little while."
Penny smiled, because she knew those words meant more than they seemed. It would only just be a little while, not forever. She knew he'd never be far. She leant down and kissed his forehead, which nearly led her to start crying again, so she quickly lifted herself up.
"Oh, we've had more than enough of these," she said as she fanned her face and stood, "why don't I go make some coffee and dry myself up so you don't have to spend all day watchin' me cry."
Thomas chuckled as he watched her make her way to the door. She turned the handle and opened it, but before she crossed the threshold she stopped to turn back to him. He looked cozy, still covered in his downy blanket with his head propped up on those old pillows he'd kept. A smile still rested on his face and even with his tired eyes, he looked happy. Peaceful, would have been a good word to describe him then and there.
"You'll be here when I get back, right?" She asked.
He nodded his head and for her sake, hid those tears that threatened to creep back in, "Always," he whispered.
He just wanted to see her smile and she did. He studied her as quickly as he could as she stood there with her tangles down to her waist, her boots snug on her feet and those sweet blue eyes clear, even though she'd been sobbing, they hadn't dimmed. Pretty as a Penny, he thought to himself as she nodded her head before she shut the door behind her.
He closed his eyes after he'd heard the click and figured if he dozed off, she wouldn't mind. The smell of coffee would probably wake him before she returned and that would rid the sleep from his eyes, at least for a little while. He could hear the birds chirping outside his window as the sun crept higher in the sky and offered him warmth through the curtains. He had finally started to drift off to their song when the door creaked again. He figured Penny just preferred to leave it open and had returned to do so, until he heard words.
"She is somethin', idn't she."
He furrowed his brows as he laid there, eyes still shut. He thought it an odd thing for Penny to say, then he thought again. It sounded like Penny, it had the same light and airy tone, but something was different. It was familiar, almost painfully so and then it dawned on him. He was dreaming, again. He knew that voice and he wanted badly to open his eyes to look at her, but he wouldn't let his subconscious taunt him any further that morning. He'd seen her once, he'd been close enough to touch her, only to be woken before he could. Perhaps, if he refused to play into his own mind games, he could rest without the chase. Then, he felt the bed dip beside him and it made his breath hitch. In fact, it nearly rendered his lungs empty.
"Thomas," she said softly before he felt a hand rest on his.
It was too real, too painful and he wanted to wake up, but his body betrayed him and his eyes flew open to behold Ronnie sitting beside him. His dreams had never been so kind before, they'd never allowed him to touch her, let alone be touched by her, but he felt her. She was warm as her fingers brushed the back of his hand and her palm rested atop his wrist. She was wearing that smile he'd only seen on Penny's features, but to see it on her's stopped his heart. She hadn't aged a day, she was exactly how he'd left her that morning, exactly how she'd been when he kissed her goodbye over twenty years ago. Content, beaming down at him as if not a day had passed.
"Hi," she whispered.
He didn't waste another second in testing this dream's boundaries and he flew up with more ease than expected to engulf her in his arms. When he heard her laughter in his ears, he wanted to sob. It was a sound he never thought he'd hear again, but there it was, reverberating off the white wooden walls and filling the room with light. He almost completely refused to release her from his grip, fearful it would end and he'd be left desperately trying to fall asleep to find her again, but she pulled back and rested her hand against his cheek. And he felt it. He took her face in his hands as his eyes whipped frantically back and forth to study her, just in case she left him again and that laugh escaped her once more.
"Tommy, it's okay," she reassured him as she rested her hands over his, "I'm not goin' nowhere."
He furrowed his brows at how sure she was and shook his head, but she was quick to stop him, "Tommy," she whispered as she rested her forehead against his, "I'm right here."
As her fingers brushed his cheek, he was reduced to tears. He tried desperately to catch his breath, but it proved useless as his shoulders shook and tears fell from his eyes. She caught them all and held onto him until he'd let as much as he needed out, reassuring him endlessly that she was still there. He wasn't sure he'd ever stop crying, he thought to himself each time he heard that voice. She was there, Ronnie was there. It was then he pulled away.
"Please forgive me," he said quickly as he took her hand in his.
Ronnie furrowed her brows and shook her head, "Thomas-"
"Please," he repeated with desperation in his eyes.
He'd waited a lifetime to ask her for it, though really he never thought he'd be able to. She had missed it all and he still felt that blame on his shoulders for the simple fact that he had kept a secret from her, one that had caused her death. As Ronnie looked back at him, she realized what he meant and her expression melted into complete and total sympathy. Her smile was soft as she shook her head gently.
"There's nothin' to forgive, Thomas," she said.
He furrowed his brows again, eternally confused by her response, but her next words sent him over the edge, "I knew."
His brows unfurled then and his eyes widened as years of self torment were washed away with two syllables, but she didn't stop there, "I've waited so long to tell you, I wanted to sooner- I tried so many times, Tommy," she paused to gather herself before she sternly said, "I have never blamed you. Never."
Thomas closed his eyes again as she squeezed both his hands, "If anything, Tommy, I was so proud of you. I always have been. You did what most people probably wouldn't have done and you did it twice. If anyone deserves to be remembered as a saint, it's you. You saved yourself and more than that, you saved our daughter, that's what you did, Tommy. You washed yourself clean and lived so she could."
Thomas, true to himself, was pained with guilt at the sound of that word, 'lived'. It was something she herself should have gotten to do, but much like she used to, she had read his mind in a sense and took his face in her hands once more.
"And I didn't miss a thing," she whispered, "not one moment. I was right here," she said as she rested one hand on his chest, "you did that too, you kept me here. You never forgot me."
"Never," he breathed out as he rested against her touch.
"Never," Ronnie repeated quietly.
His forehead found her's again. It had been so long since he'd felt that kind of peace, it was all encompassing. From where his skin met her's, the warmth only she had ever been able to give him spread throughout his body. It slowed his breath and his heart beat until they were once again aligned with her's. He rested his hand against her cheek, reassuring himself one last time that it was real, she was there. Whatever veil had kept them apart had finally torn and for the first time, he could hold her without fear. As he did, he realized he'd never been able to do so when she was alive. Each moment they had shared had always been overshadowed by one threat or another. There, wherever they were, no danger could separate them, no shadow could black out her light.
"Don't leave," Thomas whispered as his fingers tangled in her loose curls to hold her tighter against him.
"I never did, Thomas," she whispered back as she furrowed her brow against his, allowing a few tears to slip out and run over her trembling smile, "and you don't have to either, not if you don't want to. You can stay."
He pulled back to contemplate her words and study that soft smile on her face. As he held her gaze, he began to understand what she meant. This was no dream, this was his end and Ronnie had led him to it. All those times he'd seen her on that road, the closer he got each time began to make sense to him as he looked upon her. She had been waiting for him, just like mama said she would be. All Thomas had ever known was violence, he'd lived it and he'd delivered it, so to be offered so kind a death seemed unfathomable, but freedom smiled back at him through her eyes. He saw it in the blue, a place where he could rest unburdened and unshackled in the arms of his loving lady. His life sentence had ended and the gates were open, he just had to take her hand, but he felt a sting in his chest.
"Penny," he whispered with a pained expression and Ronnie nodded her head.
"Come here," she said as she patted his hand and led him out of the bed.
She guided him to the window and pulled back the curtain to reveal her. She sat quietly on the steps of the porch with her hands clasped together and her elbows resting on her knees. Her eyes were on the horizon, where they always went when she was thinking. Thomas smiled as he watched her study the sky. She looked stoic, he thought to himself as Ronnie rested the back of her head against his chest to admire their daughter with him.
"She's wiser than you think," Ronnie whispered with the same smile on her own features, "tougher too."
Thomas let out a breathy chuckle and nodded his head, he knew it was true. She was in the storm, he knew the rain was heavy on her head, but she remained at peace as she sat there and wrapped herself in acceptance. In fact, he realized that glint she had been wearing in her eyes had been acceptance all along. She had prepared herself to let him go long before he had fallen ill. Penny had come to understand early on that there would come a day she would take his place as the last of the family, the end of the line and she would take it with pride. Their legacy would live on in her and it was filled with with hope, with love. The undying kind she'd spoken of that morning.
"And she's right, it ain't leavin'. We don't have to let this go," Ronnie said as she watched the breeze play in that blonde hair of her's, "we'll be right here."
Silence befell them as they stood there, a good kind as Thomas took in that moment. Penny on the porch with the breeze in her hair, it was perfect. It reminded him that she knew exactly how to live, how to love and how to be free. There was an appreciation he'd never quite had in life that filled him as he watched her breathe in the air, an appreciation for life was what overtook him as she lived before them. There was a time he feared bringing her into the world, blamed himself even for aiding in it, but as she squinted in the sun's radiant beams he rethought that remorse he once had. He wasn't leaving Penny for the world have, he was leaving the world for her to take. She'd always held the reigns, the means to endure from the moment she arrived. It was in her and if anything, the world needed her more so than he ever realized. She was to it what Ronnie was to him, a chance and a lesson to be learned. She was good that came from bad, she was love that came from damnation and she was the silver lining. Proof that hope was alive and well. She wasn't the end of the line, but the beginning and this was her's. More importantly, Penny would live and she would do it to the fullest with that smile upon her face.
He turned Ronnie in his arms and took her chin between his index and thumb. Those blue eyes of her's beamed up at him to bathe him in adoration he'd missed so dearly as he offered her the same in his own gaze.
"Always," he whispered down at her, which reignited the smile he'd spend an eternity worshipping and she nodded her head.
"Always," she whispered back as her eyes dropped down to his lips with a need that had been denied for twenty years.
He tilted her up to him as he leaned down to fulfill that desire he too shared. She was just as soft as he remembered and there wasn't a trace of finality in this kiss. Instead, it gave him breath that didn't pain him, warmth his bones had ached for and tranquility he could accept with open arms, because perhaps he'd finally earned her. Heaven would have been a good word to describe it.
Penny felt the wind pick up, but it didn't chill her. The clouds hadn't dared touch the sky that morning, nothing blocked out the rays of bright orange that illuminated the white fence in front of her and she smiled as her head started to nod. She couldn't quite explain what it was she felt when that whisper whipped past her, but it quelled the ache she'd felt when she shut the door to her daddy's room. Whatever it was in the air around her was good, without a shadow of doubt. She stood up and the keys she'd been holding fell to the ground. She dropped down to retrieve them and realized she'd grabbed the wrong ones, instead of house keys, they were the ones to the truck.
She chuckled as she stood up and studied them in her palm, "A drive, huh?"
She lifted her head and looked back to the horizon, it was who she'd asked the question to, because he was there. She felt her father in the orange light that warmed her skin and her mother was right there beside him.
"I could do that," she said as she took a deep breath.
When she let it out, she smiled again. He hadn't left and neither had she. Loneliness wasn't something that had dared to creep into her in the slightest, because they were beside her as she listened to the sound of her boots crunch the gravel underneath her feet. He'd never broken a promise before and he hadn't broken one that day. So Penny went eighty with the windows rolled down and the wind in her hair. He'd be there when she got back, they both would be.
Her frail arms returned his embrace, weaker than he remembered, but just as comforting. He clung to her, afraid that if he let go she'd disappear into thin air before his eyes. He ignored the bus driver's honking as he stepped back to let the doors close, carrying Luda with him as he did so. He wasn't about to let the man's impatience ruin this reunion that he believed impossible. He was so sure she had died, whether it was the fire or time that had killed her he had never decided, but to have her there caused him to unravel. To feel her hand reach it's way up to the back of his head so she could comfort him as he sobbed was something he hadn't realized he needed so desperately. She was just as undone as he was, her tears seeped through his shirt to rest on his chest as she hugged him as tightly as she could.
"Oh, I thought I'd never see your sweet face again," she said with a sniffle, "I never thought- Tommy, I'm so sorry I wasn't here sooner."
He hunched over and buried his face in the crook of her neck to let his tears fall unseen as she held him. The bus had long since left and he didn't care at all. Mama was there, telling him it was okay, that he was okay when he was so far from it in that moment. Ten years of grief stained her shoulders as she let him cry until he finally took a deep breath and lifted his head.
She rested her hand on his cheek as he looked down at her, smiling through the bittersweet tears that continued to pour out. She looked different, worn from traveling. Her hair had lost its gray and instead, turned a stark white. It was thinner too, he noticed as the breeze sent the wispier strands around her face flying. Though she smiled up at him, he could see the sadness that lingered behind it. She knew. Her nose scrunched up before she lowered her head and brought her hand back to wipe some of her tears away.
"I didn't wanna be there for it," she said softly, "'spose that's why I came late, just wanted to hear the news firsthand, I guess. I didn't expect to see you here neither."
She lifted her head again, squinting in the sunlight as she studied his somber expression, "He's gone, idn't he?"
Thomas nodded his head and she let out a relieved sigh, "You know, I felt it. It was like suddenly the air was easier to breathe in, not quite as dense as it was while he was here."
A silence fell over them when he gave her soft smile in agreement. He lowered his gaze to her feet and her brow furrowed as more tears started to sting her eyes.
"Thomas, I'm so sorry," Luda whispered with a crack in her gentle tone.
It stung a bit, because he knew what she meant. She wasn't sorry for Hoyt, it was Ronnie that had caused pain to break her voice.
"I tried to stop him, but after you two left, he changed. He'd been bad before, but somethin' inside him got worse and if I'm bein' honest, I think it drove him mad. He stayed down there for a few days, lyin' on that table. He could move, he just didn't feel like it I guess, so he didn't. I kept thinkin' I should have wanted to check in on him, as awful as that man was, he was my son, but I just couldn't do it. I don't know if it was fear or anger that kept me away, but I didn't wanna see him. When he finally came back upstairs, that's when Monty and I saw it. He was quiet and we both know that idn't-" she stopped and shook her head as she pressed her lips together before she continued, "wudn't like him. He kept his head down, stayed clear of me and Monty like he'd catch sick or somethin', but he watched. Sometimes from that car, even though it didn't drive no more, sometimes from his chair like he did when he had you down there in the basement. It was like he was waitin' for somethin' to crawl outta there, a sign of sorts. I kept wantin' to figure out what it was he was thinkin', but Thomas I couldn't look at him, it scared me stiff to. His eyes were so black, even after the bruises faded, they were so dark, empty. I knew it was only a matter of time 'til whatever it was goin' on in his head made itself known and it did. It did."
She paused for a moment, brows furrowed atop wide eyes that had seen more than a lifetime of horror, but some was too much for her to bear and it was evident in the way her gaze fixated on his chest. It wasn't him she was looking at, not internally. It was the memory she had to prepare herself to share that had captivated her so completely.
"He went back down there one night, after we'd gone to bed. It wasn't too unusual, he'd done it a time or two before, disappeared for awhile, but that night I heard him talkin'. I don't know who or what was down there with him, or really, what was in him, but it had gotten tired of bein' locked up and it wanted out. I heard the stairs creak and figured he'd worn himself out rantin' in the mirror, but when he got to the hallway, I heard it draggin' along the wood behind his feet. I don't know how I knew, but I did and I wanted to tear myself out of bed before he opened Monty's door, but I couldn't. I sat up, but my legs wouldn't move. They were stuck, just like my eyes, sealed shut, but I heard him pull that switch and I heard that awful sound and I heard Monty-"
Her voice caved in on itself before she turned her face away from him, searching for respite in the horizon. Her eyes whipped back and forth for a moment as she gathered herself with a quick breath to look at him, but she found comfort in keeping her gaze at his feet. Thomas rested his hand on her shoulder and she squeezed her eyes shut at his touch.
"There was nothin' I could do, Tommy. I don't even know why he did it, he just snapped and I just sat there and waited, because I knew I was next. It felt like hours on the edge of bed after the saw shut off, watchin' the door and the silence didn't help. It was dreadful and all I kept thinkin' was why. Why Monty? He'd never done a damn thing to him, always kept out of his way, respected him even if he didn't deserve it and he never challenged him, not like the rest of us. All he ever did was cling to Hoyt's good side and it ain't no secret why, he was terrified of him. Scared to death that very thing Hoyt did would happen to him if he didn't walk the line, but that didn't matter none. He was easy, all he could do to defend himself was beg and that's exactly why Hoyt did it. He wanted to be begged for mercy, he wanted to know what it felt like and most of all, I think he wanted to be you, Tommy. After you left it became real hard to deny who'd really kept us goin' for as long as we did. He may have been the one pullin' the strings, makin' you do the things you did, but without you he had nothin', no muscle, no strength, no power. He finally figured that out and it was jealousy that ruined him. He couldn't let you go and he couldn't be you either and it ate at him until there was nothin' left to take. Left him empty, just a vessel ready to be used by whatever it was he found down there in the basement or his own damned subconscious. He let it take over, then he left, but not without leavin' one last message. After he finished with Monty he went back downstairs, didn't come for me, instead he left me there, probably hopin' the smoke would do me in 'cause he didn't have the guts to do it himself. I'd already gone to Monty by the time I smelled it, he must have drowned the basement in gasoline 'cause it caught quick. I won't lie to you, after seein' what he done to your uncle, I thought maybe I'd just sit there by him and burn, but that wudn't as easy as I thought it'd be, not when deaths lyin' there next to you. The smoke didn't help either, it didn't seem to matter how much of it I breathed in, it just wouldn't knock me out like I was hopin' it would. It just hurt and lookin' at Monty made it hard to stick to my guns. His eyes were still open, wide, frozen in fear of whatever it was he saw at the end and I don't think I was ready to see it, 'cause I ran. It's a miracle I got out, 'cause there wasn't an inch of that house that fire hadn't kissed. I almost didn't, the door wouldn't budge, but I was more afraid to burn than bleed so the window was where I went, right through it. When I didn't find him out there I thought he'd had the same idea I'd had and just let himself burn. It was foolish of me to think it, Hoyt always thought too highly of himself to accept a fate like that, but I wish he had. I wish he'd burned."
Her head nodded up and down as she let those last words hang a moment between them. Thomas was still, he kept his gaze focused on her and the way she trembled as she thought of what to say next. She seemed intent on dancing around Ronnie's name for the time being, but he knew it was coming and he wished she wouldn't have been so frightened to bring her up. It pained him that her memory still brought such sadness.
"I wanted to find y'all, but I had to find money first. I ended up at a diner, worked when I could, slept where I could and after awhile I made my peace with the fact that I'd probably never see either of you again. I knew you were safe and I held on to that, I knew Ronnie would make sure you all were. It was easy to trust that, she had a way of makin' the best outta the lowest lows, that determination she had was a force to be reckoned with," she smiled as she thought back on her daughter in-law, but it faded as she continued, "I guess that's what made the words I read in that paper so hard to believe."
Thomas' brow furrowed. He didn't understand how the news of a woman's death in New Mexico had found its way to Travis county, but Luda was quick to put his confusion to rest.
"It must have been fate, 'cause if Hoyt hadn't started runnin' his mouth about that fire, I don't think I would have ever known, but there it was. I didn't recognize the name since she always went by 'Ronnie' and we never managed to get a last name outta that girl, but I kept on readin'. 'Man condemned to death for the murder of Veronica Spencer claims evidence connected to a number of unsolved murders may be found in the remains of a Travis County house fire'. I didn't have to flip the page and see his damn mugshot to know it was him they were talkin' about and it was Ronnie Hewitt he'd killed."
Short for a name I don't care too much for, he remembered some of the first words Ronnie had ever spoken to him with a somber smile. He lowered his gaze to the ground when he realized Luda must have only just discovered she was gone.
"When I saw the date of her death it broke me. Ten years you've been grievin' her and I was none the wiser. I wasn't here and I should have been. I don't think I'll ever stop kickin' myself for that," she said as she shook her head solemnly.
Thomas shook his head as well, he didn't blame her in the slightest, but he shared her sentiments. There were some things he himself would never stop kicking himself for just the same. Luda finally looked back up at him and that shadow of guilt that hung over his bowed head didn't slip past her. She reached forward and grabbed both of his hands in hers, which managed to get him to meet her eyes once more.
"Thomas Brown Hewitt, don't you dare tell me you been blamin' yourself all these years," she said sternly.
He was quick to look away as his chest rose up with the breath he quickly took in to quell the threat of further tears. He had been, in every which way possible. His compunction on the matter had buried itself so deep he imagined it would one day be found inscribed upon his bones. 'Guilty', whoever dug him up would read in the dust. He had yet to find any other way to remember that day without repeating 'you should have been there'. He'd even had times he felt he should have been there the very moment Ronnie had met Hoyt, to hold him back as he watched her drive away, untouched. He would have gladly lived a life without her if it meant she would have gotten to live her's. He could have contented himself with that if he'd seen what allowing her to love him and granting himself the pleasure of loving her would ultimately lead to.
"That is not what she would want and you know that," Luda said as she squeezed his hands.
He returned her grip as he tried to keep his shoulders from trembling with each forced breath. Luda's expression softened as she watched him deny any more tears passage. The loss he'd suffered was palpable, she felt it in her palms and it ran through her until it reached well past the barriers of her heart. He was still filled with so much love for her, just as he had been the last Luda saw him and she knew it was the kind of love that doesn't simply pass with time. Ronnie was to Thomas what wings were to birds. They could live without them, sure, but a life without touching the sky when it was just barely out of reach would steal the song from their mouths, they'd have no reason to sing if they were forbidden to glide the breeze. There were no words to describe how cruel what Hoyt had done to him was, but she couldn't allow him to bear the guilt any longer. He may have lost his wings, but Luda knew for certain he'd find his song again. He'd find his way back to the sky.
"Thomas, I know words can only do so much and I know I can't put an end to your pain, not completely, but you know me," Luda said as a delicate smile pulled at the edges of her mouth.
Thomas chuckled lightly as she spoke, "I gotta try and not only 'cause I'm your mama, it's just who I am."
She looked up at him softly. That motherly outpour of love she had for him bubbled up to the surface and for a moment, he felt as though he was a boy again as he observed it in her. She rested one of his hands in her's and covered his knuckles with her palm as she considered her words quietly.
"Where you and I come from there's a finality in death, an end that comes swift and hard. We were the ones who delivered it, we were takers and you grew up learnin' to walk side by side with it, with death. We didn't think about after, 'cause we had no use for it. After was simply figurin' out how to cover up the smell, keep the rot away as long as we could. We dealt with the physical parts of it, but I have feelin' it wudn't just me who heard it when the lights went out and night came. The cries never really went away, their mourning lingered in the walls of that house, maybe even inside us, 'cause sometimes I still hear it. Conscience, I think is why we heard it and Hoyt didn't, least I don't think he did. He was empty, like I said before and we came real close to bein' just like he was, then she showed up," she smiled again like before, softly, but this time it didn't fade as she continued, "When Ronnie came along it became pretty clear who the holy and damned were. Sometimes I wonder what she must've made of us in those first few months surrounded by all that harshness and how on earth she found a way to look at us kindly, but she did. I watched her make a decision to lay herself down and be a bridge between that valley that separates good and evil so that you could walk across, become whole. She stayed like that until she got me there too and she even gave Hoyt a shot. You laid yourself down in her place to be his bridge because of what she taught you and he burned you. He did that, Thomas, not you. What you did was somethin' I know in my heart she's proud of, because it took more than strength, it took grace, which is exactly why she loved you. That woman loved you so much, Thomas and she would never think to blame you for what happened to her. It's not that some people aren't meant to be saved, it's that they don't wanna be and Hoyt," she shook her head with a click of her tongue, "he didn't wanna be. He was wicked and quite content with bein' so, but that's where finality comes in. You and I, we won't see the likes of him no more because of that choice he made. He's gone, but Ronnie . . . We'll see her again. In fact, she's still here, she's the bridge. We just gotta keep walkin' along until we get to the end and she'll be there, waitin' for you with that pretty little smile she always had."
Thomas wanted to believe what she'd said, he wanted to believe there was a place where she was indeed waiting and that he would be granted passage, but his brow furrowed. That contrition in his bones boiled up and brought with it doubt. It clouded the image that Luda had painted in a darkness he felt he was destined to die in, alone and forever unable to reach her. Thomas didn't fear death, it was the 'after' Luda spoke of that terrified him. He lacked the certainty she had of who exactly it would be waiting for him when he closed his eyes for the last time.
"Now, that's not to say the journeys easy, it rarely ever is, but you gotta hold onto that, Tommy, for your own sake and remember where she is, she don't feel this," she said as she reached up to pat the center of his chest, right where it always ached, "that's just for those of us left behind. I'll let you in on a little secret though, it dudn't always have to hurt this bad, but that's a decision only you can make, baby. You can choose to stand in the heaviest part of the storm for the rest of your life, or you can turn that corner where it may still be rainin', but not quite as hard. That's where you can heal, Tommy, but you gotta forgive yourself to get there. All that grace you gave Hoyt, give it to yourself and turn the corner for Ronnie, 'cause that's where you'll find her. Nothin's ever just bad, there's always good to be found, a silver linin', a purpose and you'll find it, even in this."
Thomas pondered her words for a moment, specifically the last few she'd used. He thought back to just a little while before when he'd heard the same phrase within his own mind and that hand he'd felt on his shoulder. He'd put his trust in it then and it led him to forgiveness once and for someone far less deserving, it made him think that perhaps Mama was right. It had to have been his imagination, he thought to himself, but it sure seemed as if it was someone else speaking to him through her. There was a familiar kindness in her eyes that only furthered that idea and he smiled at her. He had asked Ronnie to trust him years before, maybe it was his turn to be put in the same position.
Another bus rolled up and threw its doors open for them, "Come on, let's get you home," Luda said with one last squeeze of his hand.
The ride back was quiet, but comforting. He watched Luda study the rocky countryside out the window with wonder, occasionally commenting on its beauty. It was a sight behold, that hadn't changed throughout the years, but mountains rarely did. It took a lot to move them, time and rain seemed to be the only thing they answered to, much like Thomas. Time and rain, he repeated silently as they stepped off of the bus to finish the rest of the journey in the truck. The closer they got to home, it became time and rain and Ronnie he kept hearing and he figured if mountains could find it within themselves to move, perhaps he could too. Perhaps forgiveness was something he'd find when the rain died down within.
The sun had just begun to set when they pulled in the driveway and Thomas breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Penny's bike parked on the porch. It was the first time he'd let her ride home alone, a decision he did not make lightly, but she had reassured him stubbornly that one trip from the bus stop and back was certainly something she could handle. She was right, he knew she was, but worry was something instilled in Thomas and for good reason. Penny would never quite escape that, even if she grew up tougher than nails as she said she would, he'd always worry.
He put the car the in park and before their boots even hit the gravel, the front door flew open. A proud smile tugged at his lips when he heard Mama gasp beside him. He turned to see her hand was over her mouth and tears had filled her eyes once more, the joyful kind she had when she saw him at the bus stop, but there was awe in these. He turned back to Penny, who stood on the first step of the porch, taller than the average twelve year old, but still so little to him. Her hair had grown wild, an untamed mess of dirty blonde curls that she'd tied into that braid he'd finally figured out how to recreate after years of failed attempts. Her eyes were bluer than a mountain spring, the sky above paled in comparison in his humble opinion. When she smiled, as she was then with her head tilted to the side in curiosity at the woman in the passenger seat, it was easy to tell who's daughter she was.
"Thomas, she looks," Luda started to whisper.
"Just like her," he whispered back with that proud smile shining bright as sunlight.
When Penny hopped off the step, Luda quickly wiped her tears and turned to Thomas, "Oh, god I don't want her to see me cryin' like this, but I don't think I can help myself," she said with a sniffle, "I don't wanna scare her off."
"She don't scare easy," Thomas reassured her as he stepped out of the truck.
Penny planted her boots in the gravel by the front of the car and craned her neck up, with her hands on her hips as Thomas walked up to stand beside her, "Well, ain't you gonna introduce me?" She asked with that sly look she wore when she knew he had no choice but to speak, "Or should I do that myself?"
Thomas chuckled and quickly ruffled her hair, causing her to stumble back to escape his teasing. Luda slowly walked around the front of the truck, still drying tears that just wouldn't stop coming and stood in front of them. She had so many things she wanted to say and yet, none at all. It was almost too shocking that they were face to face, only she wasn't the little bundle Luda hadn't even gotten to hold all those years ago. The grandchild she'd resigned herself to seeing only in dreams. She was beautiful and she didn't seem bothered by Luda's tears in the slightest, she looked upon her kindly before she broke the silence without any words at all. Instead of speaking, Penny walked forward and tightly wrapped her arms around Luda. She didn't remove herself quickly either, she stayed like that until Luda's shock wore off enough for her to return the child's embrace. Words didn't need to be said, no introduction was necessary. Penny knew who she was and she knew her well. She'd lived in those bedtime stories along with her mother and finally, she no longer had to use her imagination to know what a motherly embrace felt like. It was close enough to feel like home.
"I never thought I'd get to meet you," Luda said through her sniffling as she rested a hand on Penny's blonde head.
"We've met, just in story," Penny whispered before she pulled back to study her grandmother, "now we get to share one."
Luda chuckled through her tears and Penny beamed at her before she brought her in for another hug. Luda glanced up at Thomas over Penny's shoulder to see that old familiar glint in his eyes. He had found happiness and it hadn't gone away, not completely. She was still there, Luda could feel her in Penny's arms, in her warmth and she knew that's what had kept Thomas going. Just as it should be. He had indeed found a way to live for her and he had found his smile again, his song. The tune was different as was the kind of love it carried, but it's melody was just as strong and enduring.
"You're stayin, right?" Penny asked before she stepped back once more.
"'Spose if your daddy don't mind, I could," Luda said with a glance around at her surroundings, "I don't think Texas'll miss me too much."
"She is," Thomas interjected with a nod.
"He speaks," Penny exclaimed with a little grin at her father, "but, I have a feelin' you and I'll do more of that."
"I've been known to run my mouth from time to time," Luda said with raised eyebrows and a chuckle.
"Good, we can both drive him nuts," Penny teased before she motioned for them to follow her back to the house, "I've got some sort of dinner started. I ain't the best cook, but I think it's edible. For the most part. Y'all wanna catch a cold or get to eatin'?"
Thomas shook his head with a laugh as they watched her scurry back into the house. It was most definitely not edible, he was certain of that by the smell of burnt bread greeting them in air, but he wouldn't let her know that.
"Oh, Thomas," Luda said.
He turned to see her nodding her head, still gazing at the opened front door where Penny'd disappeared into with a gentle smile, "She's still here."
The thin glass stood tall before Thomas as he sat alone in the gallery. It was nearly spotless, he couldn't find a single smudge to study and if he hadn't known any better, he wouldn't have believed there was anything in that room to separate the innocent from the condemned. It was quiet, uncomfortably so as he waited. As he tapped his foot he thought his own impatience comical. It had taken ten years to get to that moment, ten years of waiting to see justice served and suddenly ten minutes felt like an eternity, an unreasonably long time to sit in that claustrophobic room with its dim, orange lights that took him right back to that night. It was strange to think that so much time had passed without her and yet, the wound still felt fresh. Time had a pair of hands, fingers even that with each second spent without her gave it room to wrench the cut open further. It would never truly heal, that hole losing her had left behind, but he'd managed to keep on living, even when it hurt. He often thought back to the basement, when he was so sure he'd lose her then, how he had worried his heart wouldn't beat the same, his lungs would be unable to function when hers failed. He hadn't been entirely correct, his lungs worked, but breathing felt forced, something he learned to ignore for Penny's sake. His heart still beat, but it's thrum lacked stability, balance. He'd been right about that, it never quite felt the same after her's stopped beating beside his. Though, at times when the wind was right, he felt her. He had made the decision to surrender her ashes to the breeze not long after they'd returned her to him in a pale white jar. He stood there in the living room for quite some time, unsure where she should rest. At first, she sat on the fireplace, then in the window where she had always loved to sit by in the morning, but neither place seemed fitting. It seemed wrong to keep her locked inside a house, even the one she called home. Ronnie was never meant to be caged, even in death. In life she had only known freedom for such a short while, it was only right to let that untamed spirit fly, never to be bound to one place. Penny had been with him to watch her go. It was early, the sun had only just begun it's ascent over the mountains. He stood with each of them in his arms, one wriggling to put her feet on the ground and the other silent, still. It wasn't until the breeze picked up that he heard her whisper, assuring him that she'd never be far from home. She would always be right there, even after he'd let her go. That had remained true and though he'd never shared those whispers with Penny, sometimes he wondered if she heard them too when she sat on the porch long before he woke up, smiling to herself when a gust brushed her hair back. But even Penny, as young as she'd been, hadn't quite escaped grief either. At first, Thomas had thought she was too small to feel the pain losing her mother would inevitably cause, but she mourned in her own ways. There was a certain way she would cry when she woke at night in the year that followed Ronnie's death, it was quiet, almost as if it wasn't meant for Thomas to hear and in truth, he knew it wasn't. It was her mother she cried for as she stared up at the pastel colored ceiling, knowing somewhere in her fragile mind that she wouldn't be heard, not by who she needed. It never stopped him from going to her, holding her through the pain he knew he couldn't fix. As time went on, her cries faded, or at least she'd taken to hiding them from him. It wasn't until she had turned eight that she began her endeavor to know her mother through Thomas' memory of her.
"What was she like?" She'd ask.
Thomas could tell she was fearful of the answer, frightened it would resurrect her father's agony that he'd fought so valiantly to hide from her. He knew she was surprised to see him smile, relief flooded her expression to see him do so. She hadn't caused him agony, not in the slightest. No one had ever asked that question, he'd never had to describe her before and he leapt at the opportunity. It was a chance to remember her in a different light and it had kept her alive in a way, their quiet conversations they'd share as he tucked her into bed. He still felt her rolling her eyes when he'd describe her like some warrior, clad in armor that shone the brighter than the sun itself, like a saint, but he was certain she had become one. It brought respite to see her story breathe life into Penny's. She memorized each detail he had shared and implemented it, whether it had been consciously or not, into her own story. Ronnie had a hand in helping her become who she was, even if it was simply through memory, she had defeated death in that way. She'd found a way to show Thomas his silver lining and it was Penny. It was a daughter who had broken the wheel that his family had let spin out of control in the simple fact that she was nothing like them, nothing like Hoyt. She'd known death, but not in the way Thomas had and she'd found a way to grow and live past it, even at a young age. Penny was only twelve and she had more wisdom that Thomas himself knew how to handle at times. He'd never reign it in, she like her mother had a need that stemmed from her core throughout her blood and her being to live freely, wild. Even if it made Thomas' breath hitch at times to watch her deny the easy road, he would see her through it. She was tenacious, hard-headed and yet, graceful in ways that most probably found confusing, because Penny was above all else, rugged in the most beautiful way a girl could be. She had lived a lifetime before the age of two and her life's journey thus far had been to navigate not only her pain, but her father's, even if he hadn't asked for her aid, she'd given it. Selfless, like someone else he once knew.
"Bring him in," he heard a guard say as they shuffled towards the large door behind the table within the glass.
Thomas stiffened when they reached for the handle. Ten years he'd waited without seeing him, ten years he'd spent looking at this moment, preparing for whatever onslaught of emotions Hoyt's face would bring him after all this time. Within the years, he'd heard his name of course. There had been a trial, but it was brief and didn't require much of a fight on Thomas' part. It was quite clear what had happened that day and Hoyt had bathed himself in proof that he was indeed the one who'd committed the crime. His own blood had even been on the saw. He had tried in vain to reject the sentence he'd been given, swearing vehemently that there was more to the story, more evidence that it wasn't just him who'd done it and that they'd find it in Texas. They took his word and searched the area he claimed would lead to Thomas' arrest, but all they found was the remnants of a house that had been burned to the ground years before. There was nothing but ash where the Hewitt house once stood. Whether he was the one to light the fire or not, they'd never discovered, but Thomas knew. He didn't have to be told to know it was his brother who'd erased the place he'd been 'betrayed' from the face of the earth. He'd punished them all, Mama too and she hadn't gone unmourned, but he hadn't been charged with that crime. His claims were summed up to a last ditch effort to avoid execution, they were ignored and there he stood, shackled by not only chains, but the weight of each crime he committed. He'd aged, significantly, he was wrinkled before but now his skin hung from his frail bones like he was a weeping willow. He was smaller, hunched over with his head hung down and barely any hair to cover his spotted scalp. However, when he lifted his gaze it was clear he hadn't changed internally. Hatred was still present when his eyes fell on Thomas, hatred he would take to his grave. It made him wonder why it was he'd come there again, because it couldn't have been for Hoyt. He deserved to die alone, he'd forced her to, but he felt compelled to be there be the moment his execution date was set. He woke even that morning with a drive he couldn't explain, perhaps it was that he had to see it finished. He'd made sure Penny got on the school bus then caught one of his own, in case the sight of him rendered him too undone to drive. He waited for rage to return when that signature grin reared its ugly head upon Hoyt's face, but Thomas felt nothing. If there was something to felt he was surprised to say it was pity. They had both been given a life sentence in their own respective ways. For what Thomas had done he figured his penance was the life Hoyt had damned him to without her, but he'd learned from it. His redemption had begun before he lost her, but he hadn't let what Hoyt had done, the loss he suffered defeat the purpose that Ronnie had served. In loving him, she saved him and he had honored that even in her absence. The choices he made had been a reflection of the second chance she'd given him, each and every one was made for her, including this one. There was a reason he was there and he trusted her spirit to guide him to it.
Hoyt never took his eyes off of Thomas as they strapped him to the table. It appeared that the reality of the situation didn't phase him in the slightest. Within minutes, he would be dead, erased like the home he'd burned down and left to memory alone, though really who would keep Hoyt's memory alive? There wasn't a soul left roaming this plain that would remember him kindly. He'd fade, be buried by time. These were truly the last moments he'd be a thought in someone's mind and all he had to offer was hate for the one person who'd shown up for him, the person who had every right to hate him.
Once he was secured, they turned their attention to the table littered with various objects, but the one that caught Tommy's eye was the needle they plucked from it. Too peaceful a death, he thought to himself, such a small object would be the thing that defeated him for good. It wouldn't be loud, he wouldn't scream or beg, he'd simply slip away, left totally in tact for whoever decided to see him buried. It was unfair, too good a death, but it would be final, Thomas thought with a deep breath as he stood up to approach the glass. One guard stepped forward to draw the curtain, but the other placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Leave it open," he whispered, "let him have this."
"Lookie there, we get special treatment," Hoyt chimed in abruptly as he watched the guards step back to stand by the little table.
The taller one nodded his head to Thomas before he lowered his gaze to the floor, allowing a sliver of privacy for whatever words would be shared between two brothers at the end, but no words came to Thomas' mind as he studied Hoyt. He thought he'd have a monologue, more words than he'd ever spoken in his life, but his mouth felt like it had been glued shut as he stood there, face to face with the man who'd insisted for decades it was Thomas who was the monster when in reality, he'd been the beast all along. The one who haunted Thomas.
Hoyt craned his neck up as he chuckled, "Guess we don't have much time to catch up."
For a moment, Thomas felt a sting. It was odd how quiet it was, the table looked different, cleaner, but it held the same purpose the one in the basement did. Hoyt wouldn't stain it with his blood, but it would run cold, still. It forced Thomas to think back to their early years, to wonder how they'd ended up there, to wonder why Hoyt had condemned himself to such darkness. He had been offered the same second chance that Thomas had, but he'd taken his hands to its throat and choked the life out of it and in doing so he'd damned himself to this, to death. He wanted to ask him why he'd done it and not just to Ronnie, to himself, but he felt even Hoyt didn't hold the answer. His life had been wasted on vengeance, on condemning other's for sins he ought to have paid for the way they had. He'd thought himself God's hand and firmly believed he'd been entrusted with the power to pass judgment, however brutal it may have been. He'd stolen so many souls that it made Thomas wonder if he felt them, if he could hear them as clearly as he could, clamoring behind that thinning veil. They were hungry, they'd waited a lifetime to get their hands on him to drag him down. Perhaps they'd consume him as he had them, but still, he was smiling. He hadn't felt conviction the first time he'd heard their cries and he refused to feel it then.
"You know, Ronnie said somethin' that day, some shit about how she'd find you," he said and by the way his lip curled, Thomas knew whatever was about to leave his mouth was laced with venom, "she done that yet? Or do you think I'll get to her first?"
Thomas lowered his head to let him have his laugh before one of the guards shook his head in his defense, "Alright, you know what, I don't know about you sir, but I've about had it with him runnin' his mouth."
"Oh hush up and get on with it then," Hoyt blurted out as he balled up his fist and stiffened his arm.
Thomas winced at the way Hoyt spat in mortality's face and then questioned why he felt sympathy for him when he was met with his cold gaze upon him once more. He wasn't begging for mercy, he wasn't frightened and still Thomas shuddered when they tied the rubber around his arm and began their search for his withered veins.
"I'll be sure to give her a kiss for ya when I get to where I'm goin', Tommy," Hoyt muttered with a chuckle.
"Let's see if you're still laughing when you get to where you're goin', buddy," the guard said under his breath.
Hoyt took his eyes off of Thomas for a moment to watch them ready the needle, then quickly looked back up, "Come on, Tommy, get one dig in. Last chance."
Thomas had heard everything he said and as much as he wanted to say he had equally harsh words to hurl at him, he couldn't. He felt calmer than he'd expected to, peaceful even as he let one long breath out. He felt a hand on his shoulder, light and comforting, unseen to the others in the room. Whether it was hers or a higher power, he wasn't quite sure, but it assured him silently that where Hoyt was bound he would never find her there. She was safe, eternally. Within that silence and it's reassuring touch, his purpose there became clear. Before he even said the words he felt the weight of ten long years lift off of his shoulders.
"I forgive you, Hoyt," Thomas said loud and clear, "for all of it."
Slowly, but surely, Hoyt's smile fell as the weight was placed on him instead. It was heavier on his shoulders, strengthened by his own vile deeds. His eyes began to lose that wicked gleam and dimmed with grievous realization. The purpose he thought he had, his life's work and everything he'd done had all been for nothing. He would die a failure and that knowledge came careening down on him as he watched Ronnie's fire dance in Thomas' eyes. He hadn't extinguished it, it lived on in him, in Penny, but Hoyt wouldn't. That fire would indeed consume him. For once, Hoyt had no words. He was finally too frightened to form any as he watched his brother turn away from him, because he could hear them now. They were laughing at him, howling with delight at the taste of his fear on their rotted tongues as he slipped into their cold, punishing embrace.
By the time Thomas stepped outside, he was gone. He didn't need to be told, he didn't need a time of death to confirm that it was over. The sun said it loud and clear as it began to melt the frost off of the grass below Thomas' feet. There wasn't a shadow in sight to block its warmth from kissing his shoulders as he made his way to the bus stop. He'd seen it through, from start to finish and now he could rest for just a moment in the somber afternoon air. He wouldn't rejoice in Hoyt's death, but he would accept the relief it brought. Hoyt had paid and he could finally tell the breeze that she'd won, just like he knew she always would. Ronnie had ended it all and he wondered if she knew just how many souls she had saved by simply smiling at Thomas on that road so many years before, because she hadn't only saved him. She granted justice to those that had gone before her and shielded the living from the darkness that once rested on that old highway. He thought back to those stories he'd told Penny, the armor he painted her in with words and how he hoped wherever she was they too sang her praises, that she was treated like a hero.
His train of thought was interrupted by the screech of the bus braking in front of him. He stood and watched unfamiliar faces shuffle down the steps silently. One by one, they went their separate ways with their heads down to avoid locking eyes with the indomitable man by the bench with the scars on his face. Some things never change, but Thomas' feelings on the matter had. He no longer cared what people made of him, nor did he bother hiding himself from them anymore. It was something Penny had taught him after years of insisting he 'take that dirty thing off his face and tell 'em to shove it', he'd finally relented and retired his mask for good. Though he wasn't quite sure where she'd learned that phrase, it never failed to make him chuckle. That and when she stuck her tongue out at them in his defense, even if he begged her not to by tugging on her hand. He couldn't chastise her for it and it would fall on deaf ears regardless. She wouldn't stand for their judgement of him, even if it was nonverbal. If she saw a wrong, she had to right it, even if she did it in such a silly way. It was an admirable trait, one Thomas looked on with immeasurable pride even when it drew further attention to them and embarrassed the hell out of him.
Finally, the last person stumbled out of the bus with her head down, an older woman who's foot missed the last step. Thomas was quick to catch her before she fell forward and she chuckled.
"I'm fine, I'm fine. Just clumsy, that's all," she said in a voice that struck a chord within him he hadn't felt in a good long while.
When she looked up, he froze in disbelief as she gazed up at him with familiar eyes that quickly filled with overjoyed tears, "Thomas?"
He was overcome with tears of his own as he wrapped his arms around Luda Mae Hewitt, who was alive and breathing and there.
Warnings: Gore, descriptions of violence & death. This one's heavy, but bear with me.
The sun had begun it's decent by the time the tires found their way to the gravel road that led to their home. For Thomas, the day had gone by excruciatingly slow. Tuesday's had a habit of doing that, keeping him tied to the butcher's table without a customer in sight. The bell atop the door had only rung two, maybe three times, he couldn't quite remember. He'd been distracted by the clock, watching its arms refuse to move for as long as it's machinery would allow. Noon had felt like an eternity, the hands had rested on twelve and six longer than they should have. Even then as he drove, it seemed if he were to look again, they'd still be sitting right where he'd left them, taunting him from within their circular domain that hung high on the wooden wall. The red lights had taken their place instead, stopping him every chance they got to drag out his trip home. As he sat at the last one before the road opened up, he grumbled at the significant lack of need for the thing. There wasn't another car in sight, in fact, there never was. He was certain they weren't the only ones that had found paradise in the hills, but sometimes he wondered if it was truly made only for them to call home. It was nice, he thought, to imagine the sunset over the mountains and the way the clouds sunk low to bathe themselves in the blushing horizon was painted for them and them alone to behold. It was beautiful in it's attempt to rival her, but it could never quite take his breath away like Ronnie could. As soon as the light turned green, his focus was returned to her and his foot on the pedal, which he pressed down to the floor. It would be only minutes now until the sun would disappear behind it's rocky mesa for the night and he'd be in her arms again, his favorite part of the day. He felt more deserving after a full day's work to be gifted with her gentle touch, he'd at least earned it in some way. Though still, he could never quite fathom how he'd gotten her, how a woman like Ronnie was waiting for him to walk through the door and take her in his embrace. He still thought himself a thief for stealing away with her, a jewel he didn't deserve in the slightest, though she always argued otherwise. Her mouth was a fountain of never ending affirmation, her eyes a pool of eternal praises she'd deemed him worthy to bathe in. In reality, she was the one deserving of such treasures and Thomas would never cease to remind himself of that fact. She'd earned the right to sainthood and he was a beggar, eagerly awaiting to worship at her feet as he turned into the drive. He smiled to himself as he imagined the way she'd laugh at that analogy. Ronnie was always quick to shy away from such exaltation, humble in ways she shouldn't have been. Like a saint, he thought again.
When the headlights fell onto the house his smile was stolen and replaced with a puzzled frown underneath his creased brow. The front door was ajar. Now, Thomas was no stranger to his wife's habits of leaving the windows open, doors unlocked as previously stated, however the sun had set and the night air had long since engulfed the rugged landscape in its chilling embrace. The few times he'd seen it open as it was she and Penny had been there in the grass, but with the wind whipping, he knew Ronnie wouldn't risk bringing her out to play. He turned the key and let the engine die, only to find unease in the silence that befell him as he sat there with his hands in his lap. The only sound was the low moan of the wind clawing at the car door, anxious to take hold of him. There was a light on in the front room, which he struggled to find comfort in. He tried desperately to reassure himself it was nothing, just something that had slipped her mind. That he'd feel silly when he pointedly shut it behind him and she rolled her eyes, like she always did when he nagged her about such simple mistakes. That was all it was, he told himself, just Ronnie letting the wind in for a little too long. He opened the door to be met with it, it's howl greater than it had sounded from within the safety of the truck. As he walked, he started to undo his mask, but let his hands fall when he decided he'd let Penny do it, that was unless Ronnie got to it first. He held onto that thought as he drew closer, doing his best to beat down the lingering unease before he crossed the threshold, but it came back with a vengeance when he stood before the open door. The house was quiet, the usual echo of Ronnie's voice or the pitter-pattering of feet on the floor was absent. The only light that could be found streamed out of the living room, bathing the wooden floors in an eerie orange glow. Eerie had never been a word he'd used to describe even a minuscule detail of their home, it had always been welcoming, warm. Even the glow from the lamp had never distressed him in such a way as it did then. Something wasn't right. In the silence, there was a sound, one he recalled with trepidation because he knew it all too well. It was lonely, cold, unforgiving, but most of all, empty and it made his stomach churn in ways it hadn't in years. She hadn't come to greet him with a kiss yet, Penny hadn't scurried down the hallway to leap into his arms. He stood there waiting in the cold for quite sometime before he found the strength to step inside. The wood strained underneath his shoes, it's creak harmonized with the whine of the wind that whistled it's way through the door behind him, though the chill he felt couldn't be blamed on wind or weather. Each step he took towards that glow seemed to bear down on his chest, heavily. It's weight had sunk into the pit of his stomach, where it festered viciously until it made his breath quicken in an attempt to quell the illness he felt. They should have heard him by now, she should have and she should have been there, questioning his concerned expression, putting it to rest with her hands in his.
"Ronnie," he croaked, but it barely came out above a whisper.
He was too frightened to call out to her, too frightened it would only be met with that lonesome cry of the wind. He hadn't noticed he'd stopped moving as his eyes fell to the spot on the floor the light touched. His heart stilled as they lingered there, embedded in the crimson stained wood. Just a stain, he thought quickly, but he couldn't ignore the way it gleamed up at him and he couldn't make himself look away, not until a squeal ripped out of the room beside him.
"Penny," he called out as he followed the sound with haste.
His feet weren't moving long before he stopped, halted by the loss of air in his lungs at the grim discovery that had patiently awaited him. Cold blue eyes cut up to him from the rocking chair by the window, but there was no love to be found in this pair. A smile curled onto the lips that rested below them, unveiling an unfinished row of jagged, yellow teeth. In his bloodied lap, Penny sat, held still by arms that were coated in red. At his side lay a sight that threatened to tear Thomas' heart from his chest. The saw was there next to his blood soaked boot, still dripping rubies. Grief so profound had struck Thomas so harshly that he could do nothing but stand there, wide eyed and stiff as a board. Though the red that had painted his home was proof enough, he didn't need to see it to know. He felt it the moment he walked through the door, because he hadn't felt her. He couldn't feel her, just cold, that was all he felt. He understood the wind's cries now, it was mourning. Ronnie was gone. His life was gone.
"So that's your name," Hoyt blurted out as he ruffled Penny's hair, "I been askin' her to tell me all damn day, was startin' to think maybe she's just as mute as you are."
Thomas didn't move, he had barely even comprehended whatever it was Hoyt had said. His mind was numb, blank, save the high pitch ringing that had filled his ears. It was as if he'd been shot right where he stood. His chest had been hallowed out, where his heart used to sit he felt nothing but a dull and heavy ache that spread throughout his body. It rendered him frozen in a sorrow so great as he waited for her voice to wake him. She had to, he had to feel her. He had to hear her breath in his ear as she gently told him it was only a nightmare, that she was right there beside him. He waited, held his breath for it, but it never came. Just that ringing. Just the wind.
"Well ain't you gonna say hello," Hoyt spoke again as he rocked back and forth in the chair she had always sat in to sing to Penny, the chair he didn't belong in.
He didn't belong there. He should never have been able to hold Penny as he was, after what his hands had done. Even his words were out of place. He spoke to Thomas as though he wasn't drenched in the sin he'd committed against him, as if he'd simply stopped in for dinner. He wondered if he had any concept whatsoever of what he'd done as he watched him smile at the child who's mother he'd just stolen, as he chuckled at the man who's wife he'd cut down so brutally. When his eyes darted back to meet Thomas', there was nothing left unsaid. They didn't spare him the details of the hell he'd wrought upon her, instead they shared them with pride. He saw her pain and saw how Hoyt had rejoiced in it. He had enjoyed every moment, that much was clear and wrath had quickly begun to replace the numbness that had overtaken Thomas. Slowly but surely, he found movement return to his limbs. It started in his fists, which unbeknownst to him had clenched tightly at his sides. Hoyts eyes fell to them and that grin he wore started to wane.
"Now, come on Tommy, don't be like that," Hoyt said, disapprovingly, "we both know this was always how it was gonna be."
Thomas' jaw was next to tighten. With each word that spilled out of Hoyt's tobacco stained mouth, he was finding his will. As his teeth scrapped against each other, he waited for him to continue. He figured if he just kept on running his mouth as he was he would in turn resurrect the monster he'd always believed Tommy was. He felt it pricking at the tips of his fingers, scratching at his palms, urging him to take hold of his former self, to take hold of the saw. It was begging for release, threatening to tear him apart from the inside out as it whispered promises of relief from the agony Hoyt had delivered. With each drop of her blood that fell from the chain, its voice grew louder. It demanded one last sacrifice, one more death and swore valiantly that it would be justly given. Hoyt deserved it, Thomas thought as he watched him soil Penny's once white dress with red. He was going to kill him, he felt certain he was, but he had just enough sense left in him to know Penny couldn't see it. For all he knew, she had seen too much already.
"She was never 'sposed to live, Tommy, you know that. We had an order, a balance that she disrupted and I restored it, that's all I did, but look at what she did. You can't tell me it ain't wrong, keepin' this pretty little thing from Mama, takin' you away," he rocked the chair back a little harder as a darkness returned to black out the blue of his eyes, "she wudn't family, she was a plague. She got in your head, boy, made you betray your kin, but I'm willin' to look past it, give you a chance to right your wrongs. Startin' with comin' home."
He had begun to quake with rage, his hands trembled uncontrollably as his nails dug into his palms. Thomas did his best to hide it as he nodded his head. He was well aware of what he had to do in order to save his daughter from those wicked claws she was in. He had to let Hoyt believe every twisted tale he spun was truth without question. Though his silent agreement was nothing but a lie, it pained him to watch the devil think he'd won. He beamed as he bounced Penny on one leg, overjoyed to think Thomas had seen the light. He was demented, so far from salvation that he truly believed what he'd done was god's work. He'll know, Thomas told himself as he watched those jagged teeth come out again when his smile returned. He'll know and he'll pay.
"I knew you'd understand, you know that? Always knew you had more of a brain than we gave you credit for. Tell you what," Hoyt said as he stood with Penny in tow, "when we get back, how 'bout I getchu a shiny new toy to play with, huh? Just to ease the sting a little. Maybe a little red head? Shit, you don't know what fun is yet if you hadn't had you one of those. We'd both have ourselves a good time with that, huh Tommy?"
Thomas wanted nothing more than to rip him limb from limb when he nudged him and whispered, "Though really, you and I, we ain't so different. Got us a taste for them blondes."
He let out a cackle that reverberated sinisterly off the blood stained walls as he dumped Penny into Thomas' stiff arms. Thomas watched him from his peripheral, his teeth still clamped down on one another as Hoyt sauntered over to study the pictures on the wall.
"Damn," he muttered as he squinted closer to one in particular, "well, she sure was pretty, I'll give her that much," he clicked his tongue with a shake of his head, "shame."
He turned back to Thomas, who hadn't moved a muscle, at least not that he could tell. He bit down on his tongue now, drawing blood to keep him from opening his mouth. He wanted to scream, wail and writhe, but he was forced to stand still, forced to allow Hoyt to shove his nose in it. He had played this game before with him before and he could play it just a little longer, just until Penny was safe. Then it wouldn't be his own blood he tasted on his tongue.
He let out a sigh, "'Reckon we oughta get the rug rat to bed, it's probably well past that time," he strolled back over to the saw and lifted it up, shaking it a few times to send further splatter to the floor before he continued, "I'll get your little buddy and some of this shit cleaned up while you handle her."
Thomas finally let his eyes close, hoping his mask would soak up the tears that had fallen from them. He forced his feet to find that will from before and moved as he held on tightly to Penny for strength. Just as he began to stumble out, careful to keep his gaze controlled for fear of finding what was left of her, Hoyt stopped him.
"Oh, Tommy," he said quickly as he rummaged through his pockets to retrieve one last jab at his younger brother, "thought you might want this back."
In his hand he held the ring Thomas had given her. He had to have seen his tears by now, because he looked positively joyful as he shoved it in Thomas' pocket. That's what he'd come there for, to break his brother once and for all.
"Boy, it sure is good to see you, Tommy," he said jovially as he patted him before he turned away.
The walk down the hall was blurred by his own tears and her blood. There was too much of it, too much he didn't want to see. He tried in vain to quicken his pace to protect Penny from such a gruesome image, but he stumbled over his own feet. He was fighting his own body as it begged him to release the sobs that had piled up in his chest. He wouldn't, not until he was out of sight. Then he would allow himself to grieve for just a moment, then he would right the wrong he'd made in leaving him alive. He knew that was what made it so easy for him to twist the knife in his back, he knew he was only able to because he had spared him. If he'd only known that the consequence of bestowing mercy on the damned would be to lose her, to be hallowed out and left so empty, he would have done it. If he'd known that Ronnie would pay the ultimate price . . . why? Why didn't he do it?
Finally, they were in Penny's room and the door clicked shut. There was a moment of heavy silence as he stood there with her in the darkness before he crumbled. He buried his face in the crook of Penny's neck and sobbed so profusely that he didn't even realize how tightly he was holding her until she began to struggle against him.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, so sorry," he repeated in whispers until he'd gathered himself enough to place her in her crib.
He fell to his knees and clung to the bars as he continued to repeat those words to her, to both of them. To Ronnie for what he had caused her, to Penny for having brought her into such a cruel and unforgiving world. They had both paid for sins he'd committed. Ronnie with her life and Penny in being dealt a life sentence without a mother's hand to guide her. It should have been him who suffered the saw, it was supposed to be him, but he wasn't there. He wasn't there and she didn't know, because he never told her that Hoyt was out there, waiting. He did that, it was his fault. His silence, his failure to act in the basement, they had both led to her death. He couldn't make the same mistake twice, he wouldn't.
He rested his head on the bars as he continued to quietly beg for forgiveness, his tears staining the ground below his knees. Penny had been watching, silent and unable to understand in any way why her father was so contrite. It upset her, but she didn't make a sound, instead as her little brow furrowed, she reached her hands through the bars to rest them in Thomas' messy locks. He felt her pulling at him, at first he thought she wanted him to take her out again. He didn't have the strength to stand just then, he just needed a few more minutes, he thought as she continued to ruffle through his curls. Then, he saw his mask fall to the floor in the dim gleam of the moonlight that trickled through the curtains. She'd removed it, like she always did when he came home. He observed it as it lay there, a remnant of his past, one he never quite understood why he'd brought with him. From the moment Ronnie removed it after Penny had been born he had no need for it, not with them. He was no longer a monster who had a need to hide, there was no shame to be felt when they looked upon him. To Ronnie, he was changed, reborn for her, but for Penny, he was simply daddy. His past wasn't something that had ever tainted her image of him, she knew nothing of it. He lifted his head to meet her eyes in the moonlight, of course she was looking right back at him. He was her father, her comfort, what she needed so desperately right then in all the confusion and chaos the monster in the living room had put her through. He was 'dad-dee'.
His rage subsided the moment she smiled at him, he softened as he studied her little face. He knew she'd been crying, for god knows how long, her eyes were glassy and not just from lack of sleep, but as he sat there looking at his daughter he watched her find relief in his presence, in his face. Her hand slunk through the bars once more to touch him and that's when he felt it. He remembered why'd he'd turned away once before. For this, for innocence, for her. He would never have sullied the day she was born with bloodshed or vengeance and he wouldn't sully her home with it either. Her little fingers traced his scars as he came to a conclusion that would take more strength than he was sure he had. If he walked through that door and did what the quietus within him cried out for, he would damn Penny to a life alone. She would lose not just her mother, but a father, her daddy that night too. Killing Hoyt would orphan her, in a way more brutal than even Thomas himself had been, because Thomas had a choice his birth mother did not. She had bled out long before she could make the decision to fight for Tommy, but Tommy still had breath in him, even if each one he drew proved more painful than the last. He was still there, her hand was still gently brushing his face and she was safe with him. Hoyt would win if he ended his life, he would succeed in destroying his family and tearing Thomas away from the only light he'd ever known when it was still there. Ronnie was still right there looking back at him from a pair of baby blue eyes that just knew he would do the right thing, no matter how hard the road to it and thereafter may be. He was convicted in Penny's gaze, in the gentle way she rewrote each of his scars. He was reminded of who he truly was, not who had been. He was Ronnie's husband, Penny's dad-dee and he would bring Hoyt to justice, but not in the way the devil demanded it be done.
He stuck his hand through the bar and held her chin between his thumb and his index, "You're right," he whispered as she played with his hand quizzically, "no more."
He stood and quickly locked the door from the inside before he left her in there. He turned the handle as quiet as possible to make sure Hoyt wouldn't be able to get in, not without a racket Thomas would surely hear. He paused in the hallway, ears piqued for any sound of movement, but to his relief, there was none. Just the sound of Hoyt whistling from the porch. He had gone outside to clean that vile thing he'd brought with him. He was dumb, Thomas thought to himself, but thank god he was, it made what Thomas intended to do much simpler. He was still careful to tread lightly, fearful if he caught him he'd return inside. He peered around the corner to see he had indeed shut the front door behind him before he hurried into the kitchen. Adrenaline was coursing through his veins, causing his heart to pound in his ears as he reached for the landline that hung on the wall. If he went through with it, there was no going back. He would never be the one to wring Hoyt's neck for what he'd done. His hand rested on it for a moment as he listened to the wind carry that damned whistling into his home, but it brought something else in with it. A whisper he knew had to have been created within his own imagination, but it sure sounded familiar. Soft, but firm, assuring him to be patient. Judgment would come for Hoyt, it won't be long, but this violence, this horror you've endured, end it here. End it now.
He took the phone off of the hook and quickly dialed the numbers he never thought he'd have a use for. It rung and rung, it seemed for an eternity as he glanced around the corner to be sure Hoyt was still outside, then finally-
"9-1-1, what's your emergency?"
Words still seemed to hide behind that distant ringing in his ears, but he managed to hear them clear enough. He took a deep breath and simply said, "Murder."
He left the phone hanging as he walked to the front door. He figured they could trace the call and he didn't want to risk Hoyt catching on, not just yet. He needed to make sure he had him, that he could truly end his reign once and for all. He turned the handle on the door and stepped out into the chilly air to find him still bloody as ever, holding his weapon in his lap.
"Took you long enough," he muttered as he wiped his forehead with a rag he must have stolen from the kitchen, "'spose it ain't really a man's job though, 'bedtime'. Hell, you're better than I am, I'd have slipped her some drink, make sure she stays down."
He stood up and tried in vain to clean his hands with the thing, but they were beyond saving. They were covered and for a moment, though he hated to think it, Thomas was glad. There would be question who'd committed the crime there that night. He was painted almost completely from the head down, which made it all the more difficult for Thomas to look at him and keep his hands to himself, but he fought valiantly to do so, for her.
"I'd say you're quiet, but I guess some things don't change do they," Hoyt said as he rested his hands on his hips, "I got most of it cleaned for you, I'll move her tomorrow if you ain't up to the job, but I could use the help of you are. Dead weight don't budge easy."
He waited, he wanted to see Thomas flinch. Hoyt may have been dumb, drunk even on his own self righteousness, but not so dense as to let his silence on the matter slip by unnoticed. He was holding something in, whether it was grief or vengeance, he wasn't quite sure yet, but it was there nonetheless. Enclosed in his rigid frame, but close enough to the surface that Hoyt felt he could coax it out of him.
"She didn't die easy either," Hoyt started, barely fighting the smirk that pulled at his lips as he glared up at Thomas from under his grizzled brow, challenging that gnawing beast he knew had been dormant for so long, "thought I'd have to saw her in half just to shut her up. She fought hard, stubborn as a rock to the bitter end, but even rocks break and boy, did I break her."
Thomas' chest swelled enough for Hoyt to grin. It was a ten minute drive to town, it must have been at least two minutes that he'd been out there suffering Hoyt's diatribe. Eight minutes, just eight more minutes and it would be over, he told himself as he waited for the next jab, though he had one of his own that slipped out before he could stop it.
"No," Thomas said gruffly before he finally met Hoyt's gaze, "she broke you."
Hoyt's eyes stayed wide as he let that sit for a moment. His mouth hung open as his tongue swiped across his bottom lip, tasting a bit of the metallic substance that rested there.
"There it is," he muttered as heat rose to combat the chill that rattled through his bones, he liked to think it was the wind, but Thomas' words had managed to cut colder. Though he would rather die than admit, even to himself, Thomas was right, he just hadn't figured that out yet.
"See, I don't think that's true, 'cause it ain't me who's lyin' in that bed back there with my head in my lap," Hoyt said through his teeth as he dared to step closer to his towering and rigid brother, "I won, Tommy. I was always gonna, you know it and I know it. If the blood on my hands ain't enough to convince you otherwise, I'd be happy to start that thing up again and teach you one last lesson and I betchu she won't fight back neither, just like you won't."
Red and blue painted the night sky behind him as he spoke, providing Thomas respite as he breathed in the whiskey stained air between he and Hoyt. He looked up, focusing on them as Hoyt stared him down, but that grin began to fade when he caught the glimmer in Tommy's eyes. Soon, it wasn't just light that filled the sky, sirens began to close the gap, hurdling towards them with haste, with a vengeance sweeter than Thomas had imagined. He smiled as he let the finality in the wind wrap itself around him.
Hoyt's head whipped around and he saw justice rear it's head down the road, dressed in black and white, singing an eerie song under its flashing lights as it drew closer, "Coward," he whispered before he spun back around.
"Coward," he roared as he shoved Thomas, who didn't budge an inch.
Hoyt reached for the saw, pulling the trigger switch over and over with trembling hands and a towering rage, one that stood taller than Thomas and a heat that burned hotter than Texas. The chainsaw growled back at him, but it wouldn't roar. It refused to meet his demands as he pulled and pulled needlessly. He'd never been it's master and it wouldn't grant him another life to steal.
"You do it, Tommy, you kill me," he screamed as he hoisted the saw up and pushed it into Thomas' arms, "you fuckin' coward, you can't do this. You're just as guilty of it as I am, you bastard. Do it."
"It's over," Thomas whispered as he kept his arms at his sides and shook his head, "it's over."
Gravel flew as the multitude of cars, lights and sirens filled the driveway to the brim. Men piled out of each, racing towards the man on the porch, who was not only holding the weapon, but wearing the crime. Hoyt stilled as they shouted at him, guns drawn, but his eyes never left Thomas', who watched failure run through him like a river. It swept that grin right off his face once and for all as they grabbed hold of his arms and rendered him bound. He was, chained, leashed. Like a dog.
He shook his head incredulously, denial mounting as they tried to pull him away, "You're a fool, Thomas. You always will be and I'll be right here to make sure you remember who broke who, 'cause this ain't gonna bring her back."
"No more," Thomas repeated the words he'd spoken once before, but these left his mouth with a bittersweet taste.
It truly was over and she wasn't there to see it as they hauled him away, but Thomas knew she would have beamed with pride when he dealt him one final blow, "End of the line, Hoyt."
He wore the same arrogantly placed grin that haunted the nightmares she'd never shared with Thomas, but it sat crooked now and curved wickedly, exposing the barren slots where teeth used to hang. His face was different, rearranged by her husband's hands in ways that couldn't be mended. His nose had been mangled beyond repair and canted to the right, littered with roseate scars that had stained his features underneath his wrinkled skin, permanently discoloring him. They wove their way upwards to encircle his bloodshot blue eyes, accentuating their irreverent gleam from within their cavernous, crimson sockets. Sockets that had suffered the same fate as his nose, they had been rendered uneven, misshapen. Physically, he had been reimagined as the monster he'd always been, but she recognized him all the same. Hoyt Hewitt had come to claim his own depraved version of redemption. He'd come for Ronnie.
"I didn't come here to do this quick. No," he said with a shake of his head and unmoving eyes, "I came here to enjoy it. I wouldn't mind sharin' a few last words, while you can still talk."
"There ain't nothin' I have to say to you," Ronnie replied matter of factly as she held that stone cold gaze.
Hoyt huffed, "We both know that ain't true, girl," he took a step forward to test her patience with amusement in his expression that was quickly shot down when she stood her ground.
"What do you want me to say, Hoyt? You want me to beg, plead for mercy I know damn well you didn't come here to give me? Maybe you forgot, so lemme remind you," Ronnie said with her head held high and her fists clenched at her sides to hide the tremble that had inevitably struck them, "I didn't beg then and I ain't gonna now."
"You'll beg," he said confidently as he shot an admiring glance to the chainsaw he held firm in his grip, "this things pretty damn good at makin' folks, even one's like yourself, do that."
"Then start it up, you son of a bitch," Ronnie spat, "we'll see if that's true or not."
He tutted in response and her jaw clenched at the condescending infliction, "Now, what did mama ever do to deserve such disrespect? If my memory serves me right, wadn't her who sent you on your way that night?"
Ronnie didn't gratify him with an answer, instead she tried to focus on keeping her breath controlled as it whistled through her nose. He knew better than to expect a response, so he continued.
"There ain't nothin' you could say that I don't already know and nothin' she hadn't already paid for," he said, licking his teeth as he took note of the way she stiffened, "you ain't the first one I'll be usin' this on, had to make sure I got some practice in for you."
Before her eyes closed and she drew in an uneasy breath, he caught a glimmer of that emotion he'd come there to stir within her. She was afraid, and though she was doing everything in her power to hide it from him, it was bound to slip out into the open. His words had forced the reality of the situation upon her like a tidal wave of blood. It had filled the room and crept up the walls of the house where this terror she felt had been forbidden. He had come there to destroy, to fulfill a purpose who's design had been forged the moment they met. She knew it then and she knew it now as she sunk unwillingly into the indigo abyss of his unforgiving eyes, he was her death. Handcrafted from the moment she was born to mark her with an expiration date and she was well past due. She'd escaped the scythe many a time before, and even then as she stood there with fate looming over her, she searched desperately for a way to dodge it just one last time. However, in the ache of her bones and deep in the pit of her pericardium, she knew there was no way to deny the reaper this time. If she ran, Penny would pay the price. He demanded a sacrifice and it had to be Ronnie, she wouldn't allow her daughter to suffer the fate she had been destined to. She had no choice but to stand before judgement and to allow tears to fall. It wasn't her own death she was mourning, she had been faced with it so many times she refused to fear it, it was the life she would lose that brought her to tears. Within his dark, cruel gaze she saw them, the family he'd come to take her from. It was too short a time, she thought to herself as she held onto the image her mind had created of their sweet faces. She wasn't ready to leave them. How harsh it was of death to demand such a thing from her, to force her to lie down and die when she wasn't finished. She wasn't finished living, she wasn't done loving Thomas and she wasn't done teaching Penny to stand before men like Hoyt with her head held high, even when they held a knife to her throat.
She hung her head to hide the sorrow she released in a silent sob and Hoyt reached a finger out to collect the tears that fell. He studied the minuscule puddle that dripped down his index and hummed.
"These are Tommy's," he said with satisfaction before he opened his mouth to taste them, "your tears are on his hands, just like your blood."
Ronnie's head snapped up with a quick sniffle so she could return her tear stained glare to him. He sneered at the sight of reddened and glassy eyes before he continued.
"He didn't tell you did he? That he couldn't do it," he said, each word oozing such arrogance that it made Ronnie sick, "that he couldn't kill me. He couldn't admit it, could he? That he left me down there in the basement with all the other dirty little secrets he kept from you, alive. All this time you thought you were livin' with a man, I wonder what it feels like to find out you left that house with a boy. A boy who ran with his tail tucked between his legs, a coward. Tell me what it feels like, Ronnie, will you do that for me? Put my curiosity to rest."
"Tommy ain't a coward," Ronnie said with the ghost of a smile, "boy, you are dumb."
He furrowed his brow as he watched her regain the confidence he thought he'd snuffed out once and for all. Like Thomas, Ronnie had a secret of her own, one that put all the power he thought he had over her right back in her hands. It put the light he was so determined to take out back in her eyes, burning brighter than it ever had before as she spoke.
"I left with a hero, Hoyt and I left a proud woman. If you were truly a man, you'd understand that, but you're not. I knew what Tommy did because he's a man who doesn't take the easy road, that's what makes him who he is, it's why I love him and it's why I'll keep on doin' that, long after you take my life. He forgave you and his bravery, his courage in doin' that put an end to what you created. He turned away not for fear, he did what he did for love, for grace. He wasn't afraid to accept that it wasn't his job to pass judgement on an evil like you. He gave you a chance to find your way, even if it meant it would lead to this. How could you call him a coward for that? How could you believe it would make me think less of him? If that's what you came here to do, then you lost long before you even left, because I will never give you what you want, Hoyt. You will never convince me that Thomas betrayed me, because he didn't. He did exactly what I wanted him to do, he saved himself. My blood was never on his hands, it's always been on yours. So you can kill me, I can't stop you. You can be the coward you believe Tommy is, but you can't kill what I found in him. You can't tear that away from me because it isn't yours to take, you don't have that power Hoyt, you never did and you never will. It's so far above you, what he and have, and it'll go on even after this. I'll always be with him, no matter how deep you bury me or how hard you burn me, I'll find him and you'll lose."
Hoyt could feel victory slipping from his weakened grip as he watched her find resolve in the peace she'd made with her fate. His hand clung so tightly to the saw that his fingernails had dug into his palm until his own blood began to stain the handle. The wrath he'd been brought into this world with had reached its peak within his tattered body and threatened to tear him at the seams of his chest.
"Don't ruin this for me," he growled through his teeth as he pressed down on what was left of them.
"You already done that for yourself, Hoyt," Ronnie whispered as she shook her head.
She watched his blood drip down the chain on the saw and took a deep breath to still the shudder that ripped through her at the sight. She resorted to silent prayer when he reached for the trigger switch. She prayed for Penny, that Hoyt would spare her and that she was deep in sleep, deep enough to save her from the cacophony of horror that would fill the home Thomas had built for her. She prayed it wouldn't haunt her, that the memory of her mother's end would fade instead of making a home in nightmare. That she would grow tall and strong, with wild hair to remember her by. That her heart would beat like her daddy's, like a hammer hell bent on justice. She prayed for Thomas. She held on to each syllable of his name as Hoyt stepped forward and prayed she wouldn't forget how to pronounce it in death. That where she was going, she would indeed find him there, even if the comfort of his arms was forbidden, barred by whatever veil would separate the living and the dead. She could die easy if she could just watch him live, if she could see him do everything Hoyt was about to deny her of. She could rest in his smile, even if it took him years to find it again. He would, he would for Penny, she told herself. He would live for her and he would smile again, he would find a way, because nothing was impossible if you had breath in your lungs. Perhaps she would find that the same was true without a heart beat keeping steady rhythm in her chest. She had fought to do the impossible in life and won, she thought it likely she'd be able to fight her way to victory in death just the same. She knew where she was going as he pulled the switch, she could feel a warmth envelop her like a pair of strong arms she knew quite well, offering her comfort in the chaos he unleashed upon her. It was almost as comforting as their last kiss, oh but she would have wanted one more. One more to keep that fire burning as her eyes closed, to bring her back home to him.
"I love you, Thomas," she whispered before the end, but she knew he'd remember, "thank you for loving me."
For a moment, she was there with him, safe in his arms while the sun beat down on their backs in a place she remembered well. The trees were greener than they'd been that day, as was the grass and the creek didn't lack for water. There wasn't a cloud in the cerulean sky, but there was no need to seek the cover of shadows. The heat was a welcome relief to the chill of death, it forbade it from touching her. It reminded her that she had known warmth and she wouldn't have to give it up, not there. Hoyt Hewitt wasn't death, death wouldn't be so unkind as to take that from her. Instead, it extended a hand that held a promise it would keep when she took hold of it. She could wait there for Thomas if she chose to, on the banks of the creek with the sun on her skin and it would stay with her until he came home to return his hand to hers. It promised companionship. He's never far, it reminded her, just rest, be patient.
"You're better at doing that here, being patient and it won't be long," death whispered as it wiped away the tears that had come along with her, "I know better than to keep you two apart."
so tumblr won't let me upload some of the chapters for some reason, so here's the link to wattpad. gonna see if i can figure it out, but if not here ya go :)
Read Joy Of My Life from the story Thomas Hewitt: End Of The Line by rachelc_roberts (Rach) with 217 reads. tcm, leath...
Warnings: NSFW, language, (Jade's outfit is different from the movie for ✨dramatic effect✨) and oh, captives? Anyway, let's get into it.
Word Count: 2756
"Jesus, (y/n). How many times to I have to fuckin' explain this, just-," he paused mid sentence with his rubber, or plastic, you'd never quite figured out what material you were both made of at this point, but nonetheless, his hand rested on his forehead with a frustrated sigh, "you're just gonna repeat after me, got it?"
Your captives were bound, lying flat on their backs with their eyes wide. Muffled pleas flew endlessly from their gagged mouths as they struggled desperately to find a way out of the present situation. It was quite impressive, you had to admit, that Chucky, who was no more than two, maybe three feet tall at most, had managed to reduce two fully grown adults to such a state. You'd never say it aloud, his ego didn't require further stroking at this point, he knew very well he was beyond good at what he did. In fact, he'd gotten you both there, all the way to Hackensack's darkened and if you being honest, unsettling graveyard with less struggle than you'd expected. The wind whipped past the two of you, nearly knocking you off of your plastic feet as you stood atop your soon to be new body with a frown. You weren't quite sure if it was pity you felt as you studied Jade's furrowed brows and bloodshot eyes, though perhaps it should have been, it was uncertainty. Specifically about whether or not you wanted to be her, well, be in her body.
"Isn't there anyone else we could find to do this?" You asked, spurring on another disgruntled sound out of your partner.
"You've got to be kiddin' me," Chucky muttered as his grip tightened around the necklace with the oversized rhomboidal amulet hanging from the chain, "is that really why you're being such a pain in the ass? Looks?"
Jade was pretty, in the traditional sense, but in your opinion such childlike features would be difficult to acclimate to. You tried to picture adorning her body in black, deep reds, your usual gothic attire and cringed. She was nothing compared to the body he'd destroyed, your body.
"Pardon me for wanting a little more class," you muttered back, earning another muffled yell from below you, "something I'm sure you've never heard of."
His artificial features contorted to form an incredulous expression as he shook his head, "You know, I'm starting to think you want me to kill you and don't think it hasn't crossed my mind to."
"Ditto, babe," you replied with a smirk, "it would only be fair."
"Look, can we save the threats until we can make good on them in real bodies? Let's just get this over with," he retorted as he situated himself between Jesse and Jade, "then I'll really give you something to bitch about."
You hopped off with a huff and folded your dwarfed arms, or tried to. They were just short enough to make such a simple movement tedious. Perhaps you could get used to such plain looks of it meant you'd have the freedom of actual limbs again.
"Ade due Damballa. Give me the power I beg of you," he began with his arms outstretched and an exaggerated tone.
You allowed yourself a brief glance around as he continued, finally reaching parts of the chant you'd never heard before. Usually, some interruption or another would halt him, but not this night. He'd made it far enough to render their eyes shut, their pleas silenced and their bodies still. It was actually working. You felt your heart rate quicken as words continued to spill from his mouth and you drew closer to your new form. You felt it, you were melding with her. For a brief moment her memories, her experiences clouded your vision in such quick succession it gave you whiplash. Then, everything went silent and your vision vanished as a pale white that seemed to grow brighter, more intense with each passing second overcame you until it turned black. With the darkness came feeling, a subtle tingle that pricked at the tips of your fingers and toes. The sensation spread and tingling soon turned to a strange, throbbing warmth. You tested it, eyes still consumed by shadows, but movement came surprisingly easy. You felt your arm raise, it was longer than before and when you rested your hand on your face you felt the almost forgotten, but easily remembered texture of flesh. You furrowed your brow and let out a groan as you tried to rid yourself of the fog that filled your new head.
"Holy shit," you heard beside you.
As you began to blink your eyes open, you felt him shoot up. Vision came slow, but eventually the haze lifted and you found it within your ability to sit up. Your legs were the first thing you observed and from that particular angle, you had to admit you were quite pleased with them. They were long with silky smooth skin. Skin you thought to yourself as you let your hand wander down your knee. You'd gotten so used to the hardened structure you'd been for what seemed like ages you'd almost forgotten what it felt like to touch yourself and really feel it. Finally, you lifted your head to see Chucky was doing the same with a baffled smile on his face.
"It worked," he said with a laugh as he stretched his arms out and shook his head in awe, "it actually fuckin' worked!"
Before, you hadn't been sure if Jesse's body would suit Chucky. He was so boyish, the all American type, which was so uncharacteristic for the man you'd known before the doll, but as you studied him then, it worked. It was deceiving, you'd never think he'd be capable of committing the crimes he'd grown so addicted to if you looked at that sweet face under those tousled brown curls, but it really worked. He started to undo his belt, which made you chuckle, you weren't quite sure what he was doing, but it wasn't long until you put two and two together. He pulled the fabric outwards as he lowered his head to study within them.
"Oh, you're gonna love this," he said with a proud nod, "kid was packin'."
"Right, cause you would know," you said with quick wit and a smirk, "what do you have to compare it to, Ken?"
"Hey, we both know I made a pretty good Ken," he said before he finally looked up at you.
His brows raised when he noticed you were still on the ground, legs just slightly tilted to the side with your hands on the behind you to keep yourself upright. Jade had been wearing a white dress that night and it's fabric had been blown by the wind to steadily climb further up your thighs.
"If I'm bein' honest, you look more like Barbie now, doll," he said as he sauntered closer to you.
You quickly replaced the edge of the dress to cover yourself, "Don't even start, Charles. You threatened kill me again not even ten minutes ago."
He lowered himself to the ground just a few feet in front of you and began to crawl closer as he spoke, "Oh, that? Come on, you know me (y/n). I'm all threats, I only bite if you ask nicely or piss me off."
"Well, I'm not asking," you said as his hand found your foot and steadily brushed its way upwards.
You wanted to deny him, he deserved it, but you weren't sure if you could deny yourself, that was the problem. His skin on yours, though it was just a small fraction of his body, felt heavenly. It had been so long since you'd felt human touch that when he bent your leg forward to rest his check against the inside of your knee, an internal throb forced you to further doubt your ability to say no.
"No," he whispered as he started to press his lips to your bare skin, "but you did piss me off."
He bit down then, not enough to hurt, but enough to make that thrum between your legs more prominent. You quickly extended your leg and pressed your foot to the center of his chest, barring him from touching you momentarily and he let out a wicked chuckle.
"I'm not buyin' it, (y/n). You can't tell me you don't wanna test these out," he said as he pushed your leg aside and forced both open this time, "besides, you've never been difficult to convince."
"Shut up," you snapped, but your eyes gave you away as they dipped to his new pair of lips that were curved into a devilish grin and parted just enough to display a row of pristinely white teeth.
"Make me," he said as he lowered his head, careful to keep his eyes on yours so he could watch you relent, "or I'll make you."
The wind betrayed you and blew your dress up again, granting him access to your core, which he wasted no time in drawing closer to. You felt his breath, hot and inviting, billow between the soft flesh of your thighs as one of his hands squeezed your hip. He observed the modest white panties hidden underneath with a laugh.
"Real cute, (y/n)," he said as he reached for the knife beside his former body, "but these aren't really your style, are they?"
He was quick to cut them, tossing the ruined fabric to the side and leaving you exposed to the elements. It was cold, but not for long. His mouth returned and with it, warmth that had you melting as you grit your teeth begrudgingly and gave in. Your head fell back when you felt his tongue glide up the inside of your thigh, tormenting you with your own want. His teeth soon followed as he resumed his nipping in an attempt to make you whine, which worked better than you hoped.
"Oh, for fucks sake," you breathed out with desperation.
His laughter only confirmed that was exactly what he wanted, "That doesn't sound like a no anymore."
"You know it's not," you said as you tensed under his tight grip on your thigh and tried to push yourself up to meet his mouth.
He hummed against your skin then, forcing another whine from you when the vibrations almost gave you needed, but not quite, "Yeah, I know, but you haven't asked nicely."
"Charles, please."
"Eh, I don't know. I don't think you deserve it," he said as he hovered torturously over where you wanted him, allowing his lips to just barely graze the soft flesh with each word he uttered, "maybe I should let you suffer the consequences of being such a brat."
You whipped your head back up and the desperation on your face only served to satisfy him, "You'd only be teasing yourself and you know it," you spat down at him in a weak attempt to get what your way.
"Maybe, but I'm sure there's plenty of chicks who'd be down for the cause with this guy," he said smugly.
"Fuck you," you said with narrowed eyes before you went to push yourself up.
Chucky, however, made sure you stayed in place. With both arms, he pulled you inwards by your legs, which forced you flat on your back. Your head hit the ground with a thud and in an instant, he was on top of you.
"Did I say you could get up?"
His eyes were darker now, threatening, but your body continued to betray you as you looked up at him. Desperate had become an understatement as you took note of the way he was pressed against you. From what you could tell, he hadn't been wrong about what was hidden inside of those jeans and it made you squirm.
"Now," he started as his fingers found rest between the two of you to toy with your entrance, "I said ask nicely."
You felt his thumb settle right where you wanted it, but it remained still. He wouldn't dare grant you the satisfaction of friction so soon. Instead, he left it motionless as he inched his index and middle finger inside of you, painfully slow. You wanted to curse him when he laughed again, amused by how wet you were.
"Normally, I'd count that, but I wanna hear you say it," he said as he dug in deeper, "how badly do you want me to fuck you?"
"I need you to," you whined pitifully as your back arched into his stiff fingers in search of relief.
"I can tell," he said as he abruptly shoved them as deep as they could go, "but, go on."
A moan escaped you as your head dug into the grass below you due to how severely your neck was arched, "Please, whatever you want me to say, do, I don't care. I'll do it, just please."
"I kinda wanna do this all night and we both know I could," he said as he watched you, intrigued as he tested your limits.
No matter how subtle the movement, he got a reaction for each one. He stared hungrily as he listened to your breath quicken, but your expression wasn't nearly pained enough. That was the deciding factor for Chucky, it was all the incentive he needed to hook his fingers upwards and massage that spot that ached for solace.
"Much better," he said when your brows furrowed and your mouth hung open further to silently plead for more.
But just as he started to find a forgiving rhythm, he withdrew, leaving you with an emptiness that could have brought tears to your eyes. Words of protest had just begun to leave your mouth before he tugged you forward again, this time filling you when your bare skin met his. Some foul words left his when he took note of how tight you were with furrowed brows of his own.
"You're lucky it ain't my first time," he teased before he lent down to press a sloppy kiss to your open mouth, "cause fuck, that's a tight fit."
His hand stayed firm on your jaw, holding you in place as he rocked into you and in your legs, in turn, tightened around his waist.
"Now, where was I," he said before he slipped his fingers back into place to rub circles over that poor little nub as he took what he wanted, thrust after thrust.
He had you spinning by then, so wound up it wasn't funny and it didn't take him long to bring you to the edge. He'd practically had you there with his fingers alone, but this was far better than you could have expected. You arms dangled loosely around his neck, hands grappling for purchase, but at his pace you found none. You settled to cling to his free arm that held him up, digging your nails into it as your body clenched tighter around him. You were right there and more than fearful he'd deny you a release given how the entire ordeal started, so you didn't hesitate to beg in advance.
"Please, don't stop," you cried out, clinging to him as you lingered on the edge, ready to jump, "don't you dare stop."
"Stop?"
"No," you said quickly, tightening your legs around him further, "don't."
His breath had grown ragged and despite his teasing, you could tell stopping wasn't a thought in his mind.
"Only cause," he stuttered as his hips began to lose there even pace, "you asked so-"
He leant his head back in an attempt to stifle a moan of his own, but thankfully it escaped, filling your ears with bliss, "nicely," he finished huskily.
That sound of his strained voice had you careening over that edge you'd found and he followed suit, rocking himself through his own high as he let himself spill into you. A slew of curses left his mouth as lewd cries escaped your own and your body went limp. Your hand, that had drawn blood from his arm with your nails, fell stiff on the ground beside you once he finally ceased his movements. He hovered over you, head hung as his shoulders trembled with labored breath.
"Shit," you heard him breath out before he lifted his gaze back to your own, "how was that for a test drive?"
By the look of your sweat laced face, flushed with lidded eyes, he nodded his head, satisfied. And you, well, he didn't leave you hanging, that was for sure.
