#lauritz

[hollowchimes]

Oh No‼

[comfy-whumpee]

Forgetting

NaNo continuation but also a decent standalone piece.

TW: dehumanisation in process; drugging and needles mention.

The subject woke to the bright light being shined in his eyes. He ccouldn’t see anything but the light, white and pulsing agony on sensitive pupils, blown wide from days in the dark. They watered, stinging as they tried to protect him from the pain. He blinked, and saw only the red of eyelids pierced by the lamp.

“Wake up,” a voice came through the ringing in his ears, the pain of silence pressing into his eardrums. “Wake up.”

His head throbbed with an unsteady beat, and he shook it slowly. His mouth was stuffed with cotton and just as heavy. He didn’t want to wake up.

“Nod if you understand me.”

Nod? He nodded. He could do that. It tipped him along the edge of dizziness, but not quite over. The room teetered, and settled again.

“Good. Nod if you know your name.”

His... name? No, he didn’t – was he supposed to have a name? Everyone had a name, didn’t they?

He shook his head.

“Good.” The voice was unchanged between praise and question. “Nod if you know where you are.”

He shook his head.

“Good. What’s the last thing you remember, before coming here?”

The last thing he remembered? What was that supposed to mean? There was bright light, and static, and the heavy fog like a physical weight, like someone had bandaged up his brain to protect it from sensation. There was nothing else. He reached into his mind and found only empty space, a vast, dark place where that had once been something.

Perhaps there were echoes of whatever it was he had lost. Perhaps, bouncing off the far corners of that atrium, he could hear faint memories. But when he tried to listen, they disappeared, as though he had imagined them all along.

“Do you understand the question?”

He had forgotten the question.

“What is the last thing you remember, before coming here?”

Having it repeated didn’t help. He heard his breathing suddenly, under the ringing ears. He could hear it rasping quickly. There was a beeping somewhere too, speeding up.

“Do you remember anything before being here?”

What was his name? He didn’t know his name. He could hear it in the echoes in his head but the word itself slipped from his grasp over and over. Why wouldn’t they let him have his name?

He shook his head.

“Good.”

Hs heart was pounding, as his breaths jerked in and out like a seesaw he couldn’t control. Something was wrong, god, something was very wrong. He was meant to have a name. Why didn’t he have a name anymore?

“Number four, Seashore Drive, Polperro.”

He didn’t understand. That wasn’t a name. That wasn’t where he had been before now. That wasn’t who he was, that wasn’t enough to fill the places he kept stumbling across, the pitfalls in his thoughts where there was supposed to be knowledge. He didn’t even know what he looked like.

“Number four, Seashore Drive, Polperro.”

Was it an address? It sounded like an address, like the echoes of addresses that bounced around his emptied skull. Was he supposed to go there? Was it his own address? Did they want to know about it, what he knew about it, even though he didn’t know anything anymore?

“Number four, Seashore Drive, Polperro. Repeat it back to me.”

“Num...” His voice cracked, rasping against words that didn’t belong to him. But what words did? He didn’t have anything inside him anymore. “Number four. Seashore Drive. Pol, Polperro.”

“Good. Again.”

“Number four, Seashore Drive. Polperro.”

“Again.”

“Number four, Seashore Drive, Polperro.”

“Good.”

Another pause. His voice ached, his throat tight and sore. He hadn’t been given water, had he? That was this feeling. He felt that feeling in his bones, something deeper than the empty head he’d been left with.

Trepanning. The process of cutting a hole in the skull. It wasn’t like this, was it?

How did he know what that was?

“Number four, Seashore Drive, Polperro.”

The voice didn’t reply. It didn’t say good again. It didn’t say that he was good, it didn’t praise him, and he wondered if he had ever heard it at all.

“Number four, Seashore Drive, Polperro.”

It was all he had. It was all he had to hold onto in the void. He would fall in without it, wouldn’t he? Would he be anything without it, anything at all?

“What is your name?”

“L...”

The thought was gone as soon as it appeared. He closed his mouth, unsure or what he had even been trying to say.

“Hm.”

Not good. Not good. He tensed, and then there was—

His body was on fire, on fire, on fire, on fire, he was on fire on fire on fire—

“Good. What is your name?”

He shuddered as the pain ran over his muscles and twitched them, as if plucking on strings, an amateur musician entertaining himself with a body that couldn’t move of its own volition.

“Come on. What is your name?”

He shook his head. He didn’t know.

Another shock, shorter but no less potent, whiting out his thoughts and putting the ringing back in his ears. His body was further away this time, harder to control, jerking in its restraints. He couldn’t move far. He couldn’t control it.

“What is your name?”

“I don’t know,” he moaned, the words slurring out with the difficulty of tongue and teeth. “Please, I don’t know!”

The knowledge had vanished, buried under the force of the shocks and the pain was the only thing echoing around him now. He couldn’t find his body again amongst it, like it had ripped him into shreds and he was only barely able to identify which scraps had once been him.

“Where are you?”

“I don’t know,” he cried again, his eyes spilling over into hot tears on scratchy cheeks. He felt like he’d been squeezed out. He was empty. He was nothing, he knew he was nothing, why did they keep asking him?

“What do you remember before being here?”

“Nothing!”

“Good.” There was another shock and he moaned in betrayal as the pain shook his body in its teeth before letting go, hating him, hating everything about him, what he was, what he had been, whatever it was they wanted with him, the pain hated him and the shocks hated him too, they hurt him and hurt him and they always hurt him when they woke him up like this.

“Back to sleep now,” the scientist said, a faint smear of white coat and cold, unsympathetic face. “Back to sleep, and maybe next time you can be released.”

The man, whoever he was, shook his head, but there was a strap around his head and a strap around his neck and he couldn’t pull away as the needles were changed, the bags swapped, and something cold began to move through his veins. He felt the blood whisk it away to spread, the blood that must hate him too, must be trying to betray him, like everything else he had here. The blood carried away the cold until it was spread through his entire body like ice, and he felt his brain shutting down. Slowly, like easing itself into bed at the end of a long and impossible day, resting cold aches and old pains, his mind closed off parts of itself until all that was left was the man, and the thought that he was about to lose everything he had ever been.

But hadn’t he already? The echoes were the only things that remained.

Perhaps they were going to be taken away too. Would that be better, or worse?

Number four, Seashore Drive, Polperro.

The only thought he was allowed to have. He couldn’t lose it.

He repeated it to himself as the cold took him down. Number four, Seashore Drive, Polperro.

He would have to find out why, one day. When he was allowed to walk again, allowed to see real like again, light that wasn’t a searing beam that stabbed into his eyes and turned his eyelids red.

Number four, Seashore Drive, Polperro.

Lauritz slept deep and long, and when he woke up, none of him was Lauritz anymore.

[paintingbox]

PAUL LAURITZ (1889-1975 )

"The Evening Hour, Sierra Madre, California" Oil on canvas 24.25" H x 30.25" W 

[septemberedit]

I won an auction last week and it is now up on the blog! Head over to the blog to read the story behind this lamp. #septemberedithome (link in story) _ #lauritz #auction #boughtonauction #vintagelamp #nordiskehjem #mittnordiskehjem #boligindretning #boliginspiration #instahome #interiör #bolig #interiør #inredning #interiørmagasinet #indretning #nordichome #weekend_inspo #bedroominspiration #myminimalhome #theperfectsimple #thesimpleeveryday (at Copenhagen) https://www.instagram.com/p/B0eAeGLnEp6/?igshid=1vhab341a8ufw

[hollowchimes]

pride sketch from '22 :]

[comfy-whumpee]

Lauritz

TW: addiction (beginning of italics section, skippable).

The thing crackles when it comes on. The crackle fizzes against his head, as if he can feel it before it touches his skin. He feels like perhaps he can. There’s a current running through him, an electric fear that exposes every nerve like sparking wires. His skin feels like it’s ready to jump off his bones and run. He wishes he could follow. He wishes...

Then the pain comes, flashing across him and whiting out his thoughts with a harsh jolt.

Silence, and he catches his breath, trying to blink through the haze. His ears are ringing. Something twitches, he isn’t sure where it is. He closes his eyes, opens his eyes, tries to look around, but there are only white patches.

The crackle comes on again, and Lauritz remembers to close his teeth together so he doesn’t bite his tongue. He doesn’t know how he knows to, but the thought--

Disappears from his head with the jab of the electricity again against his shoulder, sending a spasm like an earthquake through his bad arm and down into his muscles, and this time he screams, hoarse and half-voiced, breaking up into a static gurgle as the - cattle prod? As it pulls away.

Oxygen pulls into his lungs painfully, dragged in down a throat that burns. He’s tired already. It’s only been two. There’s going to be ten.

“Ple...” he tries, but the word croaks into nothingness, and pain shears over him in response, pulling his body out of his control. He jerks in the chains, rattling them above his head. His hands are shaking. “Pl...se...”

The crackle and the stab of pain rocketing across him, and his voice wheezes out in a failed cry. The pain stops, then starts again, moments later, and he seizes up, yanking on the manacles and trying to force his voice into motion. It’s like a nightmare, unable to scream, unable to move, body twitching out of his control even after the shock has stopped, and his voice won’t come out, and his breaths are just wisps of air.

He feels like he swallowed a sword of flame and he knows there are still four to go.

The skin is numb when it hits him again, but the wires that run through his skin are no less potent, like poison in his veins. He gasps for breath when it finally stops, and even that barely makes a rasp. This is how he lost his voice, he realises distantly, until the thought is wiped out by the agony.

Two...One left? Only one left, he thinks.

He screams. His body is aflame. His throat vents pain and it only comes back stronger.

He’s done, he’s done, that was ten--

Body dissolves into white flame. He can’t stop shivering. Was it not ten? Were there more? Please, he’s had enough, he needs it to stop--

Please. He can’t do this. The time between them is blurring. The pain isn’t stopping. His chest is locked up and he can’t breathe--

He can’t take it, he can’t, he can’t, stop, please, stop, stop--

Tears stream down Lauritz’s face as his body twitches and shudders like a dying flame, sputtering out, and he can’t find where the air is and he can’t hear anything but the ringing, singing ears and a voice, faint, “Stop, stop it!”

But there’s nobody here but him and the scientists and they never listen when he begs them, they never--

His body combusts and when it fades, he shudders. He’s a man made of ash. He heaves in a single, thin breath, and feels the pounding in his head slow just slightly. He blinks, white and grey static giving way to a twist of shadows. Where is he?

“Leave him alone, he hasn’t done anything!”

But the rat has done so many things, so many evil things, and he had to be punished for who he used to be.

Rain. It’s Rain, on their chair, fists clenched and glaring angrily at Alfonse, standing over him with the silenced weapon in his hand. No more crackles. It’s over.

Weren’t they going to pretend not to care?

“He’s done plenty,” Alfonse says, his husky bass sending a shiver right through Lauritz’s bones - or is that the aftershocks? “You know very well what he’s done. And he’s done much more than you were there for, of course. He’s not a redeemable man.”

“He’s not even the same man,” Rain says. “He’s different. You scrubbed out who he was and now he’s just - a gullible idiot. It’s like watching you experiment on a rat.”

Lauritz looked down. A rat. Yes... He knew. They still thought of him that way.

Alfonse was unmoved. The crackle came on again, and Lauritz tensed with a whimper, only to be rebutted by the man’s laugh. “He was a lab rat, you know. We didn’t know if the procedure would work. But he made a good test subject - nobody to miss him - and the results were better than we’d hoped. He was stupid afterwards, of course... But that wasn’t a detriment at all.”

Rain doesn’t object that he’s stupid. He must be, if they think so. Or maybe everyone is stupid compared to them. Instead they breathe steadily, still blindfolded but appearing more relaxed than ever. “So why shock him now? Hoping he’ll forget me?”

Alfonse laughs again, louder, and Lauritz feels himself shrink as it bounces across the walls. “No.”

Without warning, hot metal stabs against Lauritz’s back and pain lasers across his body. He screams, and screams louder when it doesn’t stop, and screams again as something vast and lightless opens inside his head and he knows, deeper than he knows his own name, that he’s been here before.

The shock stops but the empty space does not go away. He can’t close a door on it like he did before. And it’s growing.

-

Lauritz needs his fucking fix. He needs it. It itches at him constantly. His thoughts loop and circle back to it as if tethered. He needs. He sits on his ratty old sofa, half-watching some shit fucking TV show, and tries not to think about the relief and floating pleasure.

Fuck. Fuck, he just wants to be happy for a while, is that so much to fucking ask?

His work phone rings. He picks it up. Stupid thing, but the boss had got him one for the new job, and he wouldn’t risk pissing off that guy. People who pissed that guy off had a way of fucking vanishing. “Yeah?”

“Lauritz.” The voice was deep and rich with a husky quality. Lauritz didn’t go for guys like the boss, but he’d fuck that voice alone. “You’ve been out of touch for a while. How are things with our guest?”

Lauritz grunted and got up, stiff joints protesting to the movement. His mum would’ve said to exercise more, but fuck it, she wasn’t here to care these days. He walks through the dim hallway and to the door to the kid’s room. He listens for a minute, hand on his knife, before unlocking and opening it.

They looked up at him and the instant terror in their eyes was a little high all of its own. Their eyes flicked to the phone and back, and they licked their lips but didn’t ask. They’d stopped talking so much a few days ago, fucking finally. He was getting tired of kicking them. The only time they talked was when they were fucking begging him over the bathtub, and that was an exception. He was riding high those times, so a bit of whining didn’t bother him. And making them repeat his name? Fucking delicious.

He closed the door again. “Kid’s fine.” He walked back down the hall, ignoring the little cupboard where the bitch was chained up and gagged. The boss didn’t have to know about that shit. He’d be in the fire if anyone found out some meddling fuck had come looking. “I’m keeping them fed and shit. Why, you want me to cut off a finger or something?”

The boss laughed. So fucking hot. “No need for that. A lock of hair, I think. Perhaps a video, next week.”

“Got it. Hey, can you send a guy over with some molly?”

“Of course. Just don’t get merry on the job, Lauritz.”

Fuck, Lauritz liked people saying his name. If only the boss wasn’t married to that nutjob Sinclair.

“You got it.”

-

The video. The video was what had done it. Something in the background, a glimpse of the window, or something Rain had said, coded to give them enough clues to get his house raided. Lauritz had only barely gotten away.

Alfonse had found out. He’d shown up barely two months later, furious, saying something about how the kid’s family were pulling back business. Lauritz hadn’t known why he was there, hadn’t seen why it was his problem that the scare tactics had gone wrong. Alfonse hadn’t bothered explaining. Just punched him out, fists across his face, until everything had gone black. He’d woken up in the empty room.

Lauritz’s eyes were wet. He looked at Rain on the ground, curled up tight and listening without sight. It was his own fucking fault that this had happened. He really knew that now. He’d gone along with so much shit to get money for drugs. So much. And who was it who had given him his first high? Alfonse’s fucking recruiter.

The whole time, he’d assumed that whatever torture he’d done to them, it had been a random act. There hadn’t been a scheme behind it but a quick ransom. But this... The knowledge, from the old Lauritz, was lodged in his head like a bullet. The scum he’d been. The joy he’d taken in an excuse to hurt someone. The... The loneliness.

He was a major fuck-up and Rain had - Kala too, they had both - given him more kindness than he deserved.

He knew that now. Really knew that.

Old Lauritz was filling in the gaps in his head, but the memories didn’t feel like him. Somehow, he’d been handed a fresh start in what had meant to be his end. Somehow, he had a chance to... Do some fucking good in his life, for once. The lunchbox, and the grapes, and his mum, they had all faded for his old self, and yet they were the things that came back first. Selfless, loving gestures.

He blinked the tears from his eyes. Alfonse was still there, watching. Lauritz fought the urge to curl his lip at the man who had ruined his life. “Please,” he said instead, hoarse and quiet. It was obvious that Alfonse wanted him to remember, and that he had was the only advantage to be found in this situation. He kept his voice soft and his head low. Just as he - himself, new Lauritz - just as he always had.

Alfonse sighed. He walked out. Lauritz slumped in the chair, knowing there was nothing else he could do. He couldn’t tell Rain; they would never trust him again. He couldn’t act on the knowledge he had. He just... He was still useless. A useless little rat.

p, li { white-space: pre-wrap; }

[comfy-whumpee]

NaNo 4

The hatch opened, bringing light and a wash of fresher air, and it was the other one. Rain. He stayed curled up, protecting his ribs, which were aching. Not as badly as his nose, granted, but that was a constant throb every time he moved his head. There wasn’t much he could do about that.

The stranger climbed up and looked at him, a green bag in their hand. The expression of their face was difficult to read, neutral but heavily focused. They crouched down opposite him, and set about unpacking the bag.

As the man watched, they pulled out bandages, antiseptic in a brown bottle, a tub of cotton buds and gauze. After a rummage, they produced something else, little sticks.

“Splints,” they explained, meeting his gaze. “For your nose. It’s broken. Straighten out for me, let me see your ribs.”

Tentatively, he pushed his legs out flat, slouching forwards without his hands to support him. Rain approached, hands reaching – and then paused. Swallowed.

“I need to see underneath your shirt.”

He nodded.

“Don’t...” They hesitated. “Hold still, alright? Otherwise I’m leaving.”

He was about to nod again, but that wasn’t holding still. He froze in place. He needed this, he thought, something to make the pain dull and the bleeding stop. If they were offering it, he’d take it for whatever cost.

As he watched, unmoving, they pushed his shirt down and lifted up the tank top he was wearing underneath. There were already yellowing marks where the woman had hit, spread in uneven clusters down protruding ribs. You’ve always been skinny, a thought drifted into his head. Ever since college.

He didn’t know if it was true. Rain felt along them, pressed plasters over the open wounds, daubed the stinging, alcohol-pungent liquid across them and wiped away the blood. They bandaged his arm, where the woman’s foot had stamped down and twisted it. The tight roll of cloth was good, felt like support, dampening the aching, burning sting of the liquid in the wounds.

“Alright, now your nose,” they said, their voice still low and calm. They hesitated again, then looked up, meeting his gaze. His stomach flipped at the lack of feeling in their eyes. The piercing stare moved from his eyes to his nose, and fingers came up again to lightly probe along the break. They hummed thoughtfully, and without warning, pushed it back into place. Almost straight again.

The man didn’t move, but he couldn’t help the noise of pain that cracked through his chest, nor the tears that rose to his eyes.

The hand hesitated. Rain’s hazel eyes moved up to him again, dark greenish in the dim sunlight.

The man’s throat was thick with sudden fear, and he swallowed, as their fingers moved down the break again, then pushed.

The pain radiated out as an earthquake might, stinging in his eyes, clogging his throat, submerging all of his thoughts in the pressure. He jerked back, another sound cutting through the quiet, his breathing kicking up into high gear, and Rain didn’t move. Their hand held still in the air as they watched him, simple curiosity in their slight frown and attentive gaze. They were watching him. They wanted a reaction. They had the power to get it.

“Hold still,” they repeated quietly, and tears stung in his eyes, he knew that wasn’t fair and they must have known too, but he leant forwards again into their waiting hand.

Splints and something like tape, blood cleaned off his face, and he held perfectly motionless for fear of making this mercy disappear.

Their hands finally dropped. Bloody cotton buds and wipes littered the floor around them both. They looked him over again, and down at what was in their hand. Bruise cream.

They put it back in the bag, and packed up everything else with it. “That’ll do for today. I’ll bring you food later, but here.”

A bottle of water was placed in the gap between them, where the first aid kit had been.

Rain stood, and paused, their long cardigan swaying around their shins. They watched him again, thoughtful.

“You don’t remember anything?” they asked.

He shook his head slowly.

“My name?”

He shook his head. “I heard h-her call you Rain.”

“Her name?”

“I don’t know.”

Their eyebrows rose slightly and they didn’t speak again, turning to descend the ladder... Then stopped. Turned back, tilting their head.

“Do you know yours?”

His head went side to side, ponytail swinging.

“Hm.”

“What—”

They paused again. Their feet were on the ladder, hands on the edges of the hatch. Lauritz swallowed, and tried again, voice weak and rasping lightly. “What is it? My name. Please.”

“I can’t say it,” came the reply, lightly delivered. “I begged it too many times.”

The man flinched and looked down. He was a bad person. He’d learned that now, that he’d hurt these people. They were being kind to him anyway. A roof over his head and food on the way. He could take a few knocks for that.

Wouldn’t be the first time.

He didn’t know when the first time had been.

“What... do you call me?” he asked instead.

Closer to the light, Rain’s eyes were golden. “Kala called you profanity, usually the bastard.”

The bastard. He nodded.

“I called you the rat.”

The rat. He would rather be the rat, he thought. “Thank you.”

Another one of their inscrutable looks, and they were gone, climbing down. He listened to their footsteps walk away, not even pulling up the ladder that time. The hatch was open, that was nice. There was more air, and some sound, and light. The rat didn’t know how he knew, but he had spent a lot of time in the dark.

[comfy-whumpee]

NaNo 2

Kala was pacing up and down the kitchen in front of the range. She’d always been a pacing kind of person. Rain could remember her revising with them in college, up and down the living room while she tried to recite dates for their history course.

Now, she was pacing over the tiled floor because she was triggered, and trying to hold off a flashback. It was something she did often, when the spectres came back and she went quiet and tense and angry. She paced, working out the energy, forcing her body to produce endorphins for exercise and grounding herself with the hard press of the floor against her feet. Five paces from the coffee machine to the back door. Five paces from the back door to the coffee machine. Her fists were tight and swinging in the air with each stride.

Rain didn’t watch. It’d be the same as watching a pendulum. There was no point. They sat at the table, cardigan pulled around their shoulders, with their cup of tea between their hands. Chai was good for the mood today. Spicy, warm, and something homely too.

Kala had locked him in the attic, but didn’t know what to do about it.

Rain knew.

“It’s fucking illegal, but he deserves it, right?” she said, stopping suddenly and looking at them. “He deserves it and more. After all the shit he did to you.”

“And to you,” Rain agreed. “I think we can get away with it for a little while.”

She nodded. She resumed pacing. Rain sipped their tea, and thought about what they would write in their journal about today. Dear diary, today the man who tortured us begged us for help...

Kala stopped again. “But what if it’s real? He’s really lost his memories?”

Rain shook his head. “We can’t believe that right now. It’s too convenient.”

“Right,” she agreed, and started pacing again. “And even if he did, he’d still fucking deserve it. He doesn’t get to escape the consequences like that.”

Rain made a neutral noise. Dear diary, today we discussed whether it was ethical to torture someone who had tortured us.

It had started to drizzle, they noticed, looking out of the bay window above the sink. The sky had dimmed from pale blue to a light, fuzzy grey. Kala’s workout things were still in the garden on the grass. She definitely had better thing to worry about, though.

“But,” Kala said, frozen mid-stride.

Rain glanced over.

She shook her head, glared at the door, and paced on.

They waited, watching the rain patter against the window, droplets sliding down over it and meeting together where gravity willed it. The gentle undulation of white and grey moved sluggishly over the sky, drifting away from the sea. They could go to the beach later, while everyone else would be staying away.

“We have to figure out if it’s real, right?” Kala said, and when Rain glanced back they saw that she’d come to a stop in front of the kitchen table where they sat. “We have to... We have to see if it’s real. How the fuck do we do that?”

Rain put their mug down, drawing their hands back into the sleeves of their cardigan. “I can think of a couple of ways.”

-

Dear diary, today Kala and I tied up Lauritz Nielson and locked him in the attic.

He cut a pathetic figure. He always had, really, even while he’d held their lives in his grubby hand. Rain was scared of him, of course, but the initial panic had passed. They wouldn’t be blindsided now. They knew what to expect.

He was lying on his side, staring in apparent misery at the far wall, when the hatch opened. His head lifted, and he sat up, hope brightening his expression. It dimmed a little when Kala appeared behind them, but he moved his eyes to Rain and stayed there, leaning forwards slightly.

It was... unnerving. Rain rubbed their arm, feeling the goose bumps across it prickle in protest at the image. It was okay if they felt worried and weak, though. That was why Kala was with them, Kala was always with them. She would keep them safe. She would be fire enough to keep them both warm, as she always had been.

“Criminals don’t turn up on their victims’ doorstep pleading amnesia and begging for help,” Rain said, opening the conversation as a lawyer might, with the outline of their case. “That’s a fact. That doesn’t happen. There’s no reason for you to be here unless there’s a scheme involved somehow, and if there is, you’re a part of it.”

Lauritz watched them, appearing to listen intently. There was no immediate protest of his innocence. He just listened.

“That means, no matter how much you pretend amnesia, we can’t trust you. We won’t. The consequences are too great.”

He nodded, though he didn’t seem like he understood. More like he was just trying to show willingness to comply.

Bullshit, Rain thought. Absolute horseshit. Catshit. Dogshit. Whatever. It couldn’t be true, this guy was just – a liar, a damned fucking liar.

“You’re staying up here. We’re going to figure out what’s going on. Whoever’s idea it was to send you in here, they miscalculated.”

Kala was still wearing her black T-shirt and leggings from her workout. When she moved forwards, muscles clearly visible, Lauritz shrank back.

“N-Nobody sent me,” he protested finally, quietly. “I-I don’t think they did.”

Kala dropped to a crouch over him, and pushed him back by the shoulders until he was against the floor, back still lifted over his hands but otherwise flat. He didn’t resist the push. He was still trying to look at Rain.

“I don’t remember, I don’t know what I-I did to you.”

Rain’s eyes closed briefly. If he claimed not to know, he would make them retell it. He would force them to relive those memories for no reason other than to sate whatever sadistic urge was driving this performance.

Did he want them to hurt him? Surely not. He’d been a sadist, right. He didn’t want it turned back on him.

Kala’s hands and knees pinned him down, but he wasn’t resisting. He looked across the room at Rain, doggedly at Rain, as though they were in charge “D-Don’t hurt me,” he said.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Rain said.

“I am,” Kala interjected, and Rain smiled faintly at her theatrics. She looked down at him, her long black braid falling off her shoulder. “You don’t act like you used to, but people can change in three years, can’t they? You got to being a coward. I got fit. Heavy. I can fight now, you piece of shit.”

Lauritz stared up at her, paling. His teeth pressed into his lip. Rain watched, wondering at the catharsis this could create for them. Lauritz defeated.

“You’d fucking deserve it if Rain decided to gut you,” Kala said. “But I’m the muscle.”

Lauritz only blinked. His jaw was set, teeth clenched, as if something in him couldn’t hide the anger at her insolence, even as she overpowered him.

“Right now, though, we need to work out what your game is. So tell me.”

Lauritz didn’t sit up or try to shift positions, seemingly trapped by her heavy, stormy stare. “I-I don’t kno-ow,” he said, almost a whisper.

“You know,” Kala snapped back, her hand clipping his ribs. He winced, his breathing stuttering, and Rain kept silent, watching. “What’s the game?” she repeated, voice sharper, louder. It cut cold against Rain’s skin, and seemed to hurt Lauritz even more, as he whimpered.

When he shook his head, she hit him again, the dull thud of her fist heralding another noise of terrified pain. Was it possible for someone to act like this? What would the purpose even be?

Rain sat down, crossing their legs in the dust. Kala grabbed Lauritz’s hair and yanked his head back until his breathing squeezed down into short gasps. Still, he didn’t twitch to defend himself, no kicking, nor struggling. He just stared up at her as she drove fists against his sides, the interrogation giving way to a beating.

He had to be suppressing those instincts deliberately, Rain thought, watching closely as Kala’s fist smacked into his nose, and something crunched.

Her hand snapped back, and she hesitated as sudden tears filled Lauritz’s eyes and ran over, his cheeks reddening with an abrupt flush of colour. Seconds later, he was crying, sniffling and wincing, chest hitching erratically.

Rain reached forwards and put their hand around Kala’s elbow, stopping her from lashing out again. Her breathing was fast enough that she could have run a marathon, but she turned her face away from them, not wanting sympathy. “You deserved that,” she muttered.

Lauritz swallowed, shoulders hunching. Watery grey eyes moved to find Rain.

“You did,” they agreed.

The man’s gaze drifted down. He almost looked ashamed.

Maybe it wasn’t to manipulate them. Maybe he was trying to make penance, somehow, with a ridiculous lie as his shield to earn forgiveness from them. Maybe he wanted them to hurt him, so he could soothe his conscience.

Despite all the time they’d spent with him, at his mercy, they’d never figured him the kind of person to do this.

“Tell us why you’re here,” Kala said stonily, after a few moments to catch her breath. Her tone was as level as always. “The truth.”

Lauritz blinked. When he spoke, his voice was stuffy and nasal. “I w-woke up in a, a car park. It was n-near here. I remembered your address, thought it was – home. D-Didn’t know where else to go.”

Rain looked over him again, at the black sleeveless shirt, open flannel, and black skinny jeans with dirt encrusted around the knees and cuffs. He wasn’t wearing shoes, they realised suddenly. Just thick black socks.

There was nothing in his pockets, that much was clear. It would be trivial to see the shapes of whatever he was carrying. He had nothing on him. No weapon, no wire.

And yet he’d clearly shaved fairly recently. It didn’t make sense for him to be this dishevelled, but for his chin to only be dusted with stubble.

Something was off about this, they had to figure out what, and they wouldn’t take a single risk for the name of kindness. Even without his memories, if that could really be true, there was no proof he wasn’t the same bastard he’d always been. There was no guarantee those memories wouldn’t return. There were certain words in his voice that Rain never wanted to hear again.

“You think we’re fucking stupid?” Kala said, apparently having come to a different conclusion. “We could fucking kill you, you know that? And you’d deserve it!”

Again, as Rain watched, Lauritz merely looked back at her. He didn’t seem to have any objection to her claim.

Perhaps this was a search for atonement, then. Fine. Let him search. They had none to offer him.

Rain got to their feet, their bed socks gripping more easily on this floor than downstairs. They looked down at Lauritz, and Kala as her head turns.

“I’m going downstairs,” they announced, with a little shrug.

Kala nodded. She clearly had no intention of leaving Lauritz be.

Not their problem. Rain climbed back down the ladder, and as the sounds of the beating started up again, trailed to their room to write.