❛ —CREEP. ⁽ ᵃᵘᵗᵒ ⁾

@killledthem

You let him down. You let him down.

It runs as a mantra through Chris’ head, sending a pang of guilt through him with every repetition. The shotgun he carries is cold against the warm palm of his hand - it’s all he has at his disposal. One crap shot, one slip, one mess up, and not only is he dead - but so is Josh. Chris swallows, exhales, and he tightens his grip on his firearm. He will not let that happen.

The Stranger walks as Chris would expect any mountain hermit to - with a sneaky sort of confidence. He knows this mountain & he knows it well, better than them and any of the Washingtons. It’s as if he has every rock and dip and fallen trunk memorized, as he passes over every tiny obstacle with an ease Chris can hardly manage. He wouldn’t go so far as to call the man graceful, what with the flamethrower clunking with each step & the heavy fall of his boots, but the way he carries himself at least leaves Chris feeling a little hopeful. This guy knows what he’s doing.

The walk to the shed isn’t all that time consuming - although Chris swears the contrary. He can barely contain himself when it comes into view. He goes to run, goes to take charge - this is Josh, after all, his best friend - but the Stranger grips his shoulder, holds him back, and Chris begrudgingly does as he’s told. He falls back. As they approach the mouth of the dilapidated building, Chris’ hands begin to shake with anxiety. He chews the inside of his cheek & readies his shot gun at the Stranger’s signal. They creep in towards the ajar door, Chris holding his breath while the Stranger looks anything but sympathetic - he thinks they’re all stupid & Chris knows it. He’d be offended had he not escorted him down here (not that he needed the guys help or anything).

They’re a foot from the door & a good ten feet from the pillar he and Mike left Josh tied to. Chris is aching with uncertainty, shivering both from the cold and from his worry. He can’t take this slow pace. Impulsively, he breaks himself from the Stranger’s spell and goes forth without him, ignoring the man’s huff & clinging to his gun. He rounds the corner of the shed, throws himself confidently in front of its opening, and –

                  ❝ Josh. Holy shit, bro, thank God. ❞

                         ISOLATION. being completely fucking alone. y’know, only his worst fear.

  josh fucked up and HE KNOWS IT, has had quite the time thinking about it with wrists rubbed raw from pulling against rope that’s way too tight  (  ‘  didn’t listen, you dumbfucks !  ’  )   and hours later there’s still a dried layer of panicked tears streaked down his cheeks.  broken when they left, he had nothing to do but dwell in between CACKLING  &  the worst breakdown since his sisters’ deaths, but every once in a while he’ll hear something  ;  it’s distant, barely there sometimes   (  might be a figment courtesy of no medication’s overactive imagination  ) , yet shrill. nails on a chalkboard screams, things unplanned.  needless to say, he’s terrified.

&  they left him. all alone.       

                                       IT WAS A PRANK. LISTEN TO ME. HEAR ME. I’M REAL.

he expects to die out here because it’s bone-chilling cold and he’s been trembling for so long that the painful exhaustion is unlike anything he’s felt before  ;  what he doesn’t expect, though, is for what he figures is the shuffling of eager creatures to be CHRIS.  of all people.  don’t get hopeful. don’t look so relieved.

                                                        ❝ thank god ? ❞

  a bark of laughter, sharp  &  sudden, fills the shed before it fades into a quiet snicker — no, he doesn’t want to act like this but can’t stop. the chest that flutters with mixed anxiety is not his own, his body no longer belongs to him.

     Tyrell liked to think he was under control of everything, like he knew about every single thing that was going on around him so he was never caught off guard. Truth was, he SLIPPED UP sometimes, just like everyone. He didn’t like to think about how he was just as sloppy as any other regular con-man, fighting his way to the top, but sometimes it was ALL he could think about. He didn’t have to look Joanna in the eyes or hear the words straight from Scott Knowles to know that he wasn’t as good as he made himself out to be, as good as he TRIED to be.

Now, Tyrell knew that one day everything he’d done would come crashing down on his shoulders. He wasn’t sure HOW exactly, but he could just tell that he was going to get caught in a nasty situation soon. That thought did nothing to soothe his constant paranoia that he’s had since his little incident with Sharon Knowles. If he did get caught for that, it wasn’t the idea of prison that scared him, it was the fact that he knew Joanna would be disappointed in him. She’d even LEAVE him and take his child with her. He knew she was serious about those things and the last thing Tyrell wanted was to be seen as a FAILURE.

          It was pretty PATHETIC how much he cared about what people thought of him.

  KALE… WINE… HUMMUS (Joanna liked the garlic kind, make sure you got garlic)… OLIVES…

Tyrell crossed out each item in his head that he knew he’d gotten, just to double check before he got home. He wasn’t really planning on LEAVING the house over the weekend, figuring he needed some time in with his family. That was just what he told himself, of course, he really felt too VULNERABLE and OBVIOUS when he was in public, like everyone knew exactly what he did.

              Sometimes he felt like he couldn’t even BREATHE because of it.

The last errand he needed to run was more business than pleasing his wife, which is why he was doing it last. He was out of his car and halfway to the entrance of the building when he was suddenly being grabbed and forced into the alley. His eyes slammed shut, mind racing and he knew he looked SCARED, but he also knew he had to calm down.

                                    THIS IS IT… I’M DEAD.

But when Tyrell opened his eyes and he saw ELLIOT, he immediately relaxed and even let out a little chuckle. He needed to get his shit together. He shouldn’t be getting frightened by some TECH, no matter how smart Tyrell knew he was. He narrowed his eyes at the other when he started speaking, now even more confused than before. Tyrell knew Elliot could have those mood swings of his, but he’d never pictured him as a VIOLENT person, not like he was doing at least.

                     ❝ Elliot, please, no one can be civil while you’re                      grabbing my - VERY EXPENSIVE - suit like this.             I’m flattered you wanted to speak to me so much, but couldn’t           you have just made an appointment and come into my office ?? ❞

  there is a moment where josh is taken aback, face twisting up into a confusion he didn’t quite expect  (  all that control almost overdosing on medication in front of the bathroom sink gives him right now can do WONDROUS things for someone who normally would keep his head down around men like the one he’s slammed into place - adderall, trails of baby pills following in his brother’s footsteps  ) ,  until elliot’s name registers and he LAUGHS, its noise echoing from brick to rainy brick down the alleyway & back again. chest rises, falls in rapid excitement, A THRILL  ;  evil corp’s future CEO just had an expression of knee-trembling fear, if only for a very few seconds, and that’s almost enough for josh to let go until he remembers why he’s HERE.

                        ❝ josh, not elliot. twin thing. come on, you’re supposed to be SMART                                 when ya wear suits like this, right ?  I’m disappointed ! ❞

  ‘ you’re breaking my heart ’  , andrew clark’s voice rings in his head courtesy of the breakfast club every march twenty-forth for the last twenty-one years. he doesn’t ease up — in fact, squeezes the mix of woven wool-silk in whitening knuckles before snapping his pocketknife closed with a loud click !