‘If only,’ [Poirot] thought, ‘ce cher Hastings were available...’
He dwelt with pleasure on his remembrances of his old friend.
‘My first friend in this country—and still to me the dearest friend I have. [...] Ce cher, cher ami! It is my weakness, it has always been my weakness, to desire to show off. That weakness, Hastings could never understand. But indeed it is very necessary for a man of my abilities to admire himself—and for that one needs stimulation from outside. I cannot, truly I cannot, sit in a chair all day reflecting how truly admirable I am. One needs the human touch.’
The beach was clear, but Remmy couldn’t get the thought out of their head.
This was a bad idea.
And yet, Remmy was here at the beach again. They’d walked right past the spot they’d descended from last time, when Blanche and Cece were there. But this time, it was just them.
They tied Moose to a post and told him to sit. He whined as they started to walk away, but Remmy gave him the sign for “quiet” and he stopped. Layed down, his sad eyes looking up at them as they walked away. But he needed to stay safe while they did this, and Remmy was sure they wouldn’t have any sort of attack while just descending a beach. Hopefully.
This time, they found a less hill-y section and headed down. The stairs were taped off and completely frozen over, so the sand of the hill was a better grip than anything they could provide. Remmy slid down carefully, making sure to keep quiet. There were no lobsters-- or clams-- around yet, and they wanted to make sure things stayed that way. They weren’t sure if their arm was going to grow back this time, or if it was just a one off. It was hard to know anything when no one could give them answers.
As Remmy crept across the beach, the only sound was the crunching frozen sand beneath their feet and the waves of the ocean lapping against the ice. Little crackles of ice being pushing in and out by the waves, piling on the beach like little hills of snow when plows came through the roads. It was a bit of a surreal sight, here at night, with the dim moon, waning away as the month droned on, lighting up parts of the icy beach that reflected its light perfectly. This sand was nothing like the sand over in Afghanistan.
Remmy stopped when they were only a few feet away from the chest. It had a glow to it that didn’t seem quite right. It wasn’t the moonlight, the chest was a pale, dark color, it shouldn’t have been reflecting the light like that. And yet, the eerie glow drew Remmy in. This would have been the moment where any normal person would describe their heartbeat quickening, but Remmy’s was quiet in their chest. They hadn’t been able to feel it in a while, but the doctor’s had said nothing was wrong with their heart (even though they’d shared a rather worried look), so who was Remmy to question that? Letting out a long breath in preparation, Remmy reached for the chest.
They couldn’t help be see a warhead sitting in front them. It was analog, ticking down. There was only a few minutes left, and Remmy’s hands were dug deep into its core, pulling out wires, grabbing the cutters, lowering the blades--
Remmy blinked and they were back on the beach, hand still reached out for the chest.
That was weird.
Back to business. Remmy gave another quick glance around to make sure they were alone, before backing up and deciding they should probably get pictures before they disturbed it. They turned on the flash on their phone and snapped one from every angle, the artificial light glowing against the strange chest in the night, illuminating the little spot on the beach each time it went off. Remmy swallowed as they put their phone away, then, and stood back in front of it.
Here went nothing.
Remmy reached out quickly, grabbing the lip of the chest lid and yanking at it. The chest moved in its place, but the lid didn’t budge.
The next thing that happened was a pile of fish falling on their head. Remmy felt one smack right into the side of their face, knocking their hearing aid off-- but it didn’t hurt. They stumbled away, the rain of fish following them, holding their hands above their head to protect their face as fish pelted them.
“Shit! Fuck! Stop it!” Remmy shouted. “Damn--” their words cut short as their foot slipped and they went crashing down into the icy sand. Still, nothing actually hurt. The fish thumping against their back now felt like when the dentist numbed your gums and poked at you with their little tools. There, but not.
When the fish finally stopped, Remmy sat up to their knees, shaking their head. They’d need a long shower after this, covered in sand and fish guts. They glanced back at the chest, but nothing had changed. Not a thing.
“Alright chest,” Remmy said, stretching their neck, “it’s you. And me. Now I may not be the smartest guy around, but I won’t be bested by some lousy box of wood!”
They stood up and ran over to it agani, yanking at the lid once more, before bolting away, hoping to avoid the rainfall of fish.
No such luck.
Remmy was beginning to get angry, and the smell of rotten fish was making their head feel fuzzy. In a fit of rage, Remmy ran at the chest and kicked it. It was only mid kick that Remmy realized this was probably going to break their foot.
But when bones connected with wood, there was no pain. No cracking. Just a weird, pulling sensation, and Remmy face planting on the other side of the chest. They sat up quickly, hands dug into what should have been cold, but it wasn’t. They couldn’t feel pain, they couldn’t feel cold-- they couldn’t feel anything.
They couldn’t be human.
A scream ripped from Remmy’s throat, raw and angry and pained. They grabbed a fistfuls of sand and rock and ice and threw it at the chest. Eyes red, face pale. “FUCK YOU!” they shouted, “FUCK YOU! I’M TRYING, OKAY!? WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME!?”
Fell to their knees. “I’m SORRY!” the said to no one in particular. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save them! Please just...let me help now.” Face planted back into the sand, hands dug into the sand again. “Please just let me help now...”
The world answered Remmy with a waterfall of fish.
