ROOK.

It  isn’t  until  she  says  something  that he begins to take notice of the way his knees buckle underneath his own weight. Crimson liquid drips from the end of his nose, wet and uncomfortable as it flows down over his upper lip and disappears into his beard. The back of his hand comes across his skin, an attempt to wipe the blood clean as he shakes his head.            “It’s fine, I’m fine.”    A sting of embarrassment that he let a Peggie get the drop on him, lights still dancing across his vision from being smacked in the nose by the butt of their rifle. With spectacular timing, his body betrays him and he loses his footing, catching himself on the side of the car just in time. A groan, looking down at the blood smeared across his hand before looking across toward her.     “Maybe you should drive.” 

The  panic  he  had  felt  immediately  upon waking up slowly begins to subside, as he is blinking out the sleep from his eyes and allowing his surroundings come back into focus. The Bliss -- that’s the last thing he remembers. Struggling up onto his elbows, it is only when her hand comes across him and touches his shoulder that he realises she is beside him at all. A frown, he tries to say something back but his mind is swimming around in his skull and he suddenly feels the colour drain from his face.       Instead, he nods in agreement before allowing himself back down against the bed. Alex lays still, allows a few moments to pass as he stares up at the deteriorating roof of the abandoned prison. As his tongue moves against his lips, he notices how dry his mouth is. All the sensations in his body are both too much and nothing at all. He asks the question he isn’t sure he wants the answer to, his voice hoarse and creaking  ---     “How long was I gone?” 

“It’s  alright,  I’ve definitely had worse.”         Although, it doesn’t stop him from looking at the red marking against his skin now, inspecting where his arm had slammed against the ground. He can see the bruising already beginning to bloom underneath his skin, barely visible shades of black and blue. Alex begins to roll down his sleeve, his attention turns to her as he buttons it back together at his wrist.      “At least we made it out of there. A bruise is a small price to pay.” 

“It’s  okay,  it’s  not  that  bad.”      On the scale of unfortunate things that have happened to him in his life, a twisted ankle is definitely on the lower end. Somewhere in the recesses of his memories, his father’s voice barks with ‘hell, i get hurt worse than that getting out of bed in the mornings’; the memory oddly brings him a touch of comfort against the pain. Alex feigns a smile despite the throbbing sensation and attempts to stand. It becomes immediately apparent that it is a terrible idea, as he winces and collapses back into his seat. With his teeth gritting together, he reaches to lift up the end of his pant leg to inspect the bruising forming around the joint. His tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth, disappointed.          “Ah, alright. No use trying to play the tough guy now, huh?”     A sheepish half-smile as he looks back to Stella now.      “If you wouldn’t mind, ice might be an idea.”  

A  dark  sadness  washes  over  him,  suddenly breaking across his chest like waves against the shore. It only shows through his eyes, as they study her. Selfishly, the sorrow he feels is partly for himself. For the sudden weight thrust upon his shoulders -- he can’t help wondering why him. But mostly, he feels sad for her, for everything she had to endure. But what kind of person wouldn’t? The Seeds. His jaw tenses. Part of him wants to tell her to stop talking but he knows it would be wrong. Trauma should not be kept a secret, he thinks.     “He does.”     A sigh follows his agreement, the only way to break some of the tension he begins to feel in his shoulders now. Alex drops his eyes to the floor.      “I’m sorry, Deputy, that I didn’t come for you sooner.” 

Alex  turns  his  face  up  toward  the  roof,   taking a moment to compose himself. He has no idea how to put into words exactly how sorry he is. He should have come for her sooner, he should have refused to put those cuffs on Joseph in that ramshackle church. But they didn’t walk away. A turmoil, between his guilt for her and his guilt for them, the innocents of Hope County. The lives of the few should never outweigh the lives of the many. Attention is drawn back down to look at her as she speaks. Hazel eyes considering her for a few moments, strong and silent in his actions until he speaks    ---     “Then I’ll kill him. If that’s the only way you’re going to rest... the only way we’re going to stop anyone else from getting hurt, I’ll do it.” 

He  tries  to  follow  the  sound   of her voice, but it is hard to keep track when it is coming from every direction. The idea that it is coming from nowhere at all crosses his mind, that her voice has created a home inside his own head. That she has become a part of him. As he rounds the corner, gun pointed ahead of him, he knows he isn’t going to see her yet it doesn’t stop the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach when he is met with an empty room. A bedroom that looks as if it once belonged to a teenager, posters lining the walls and a pile of clothes on the floor. These people just vanished, disappeared into the clutches of the Seeds.  “Did I?”     He questions back, now. Alex leans back against the door frame, head back in a moment of defeat. A weak moment. A moment he thinks about giving in to her, to the torment. Simply to make it stop. Staring at the ceiling, he feels his legs begin to buckle beneath him. He’s so tired. His chest deflates, a shaky breath passes from him.     “I don’t trust for a second that I made that jump, Faith.”      He hates saying her name, it tastes bitter on his tongue. He has no faith in her. Not now, not ever.          “No one is surviving something like that --- power of God on their side or not. It was just another one of your tricks, trying to get inside my head.”        Another glimpse of something in the corner of his eye. Breath feels dry in his throat, he swallows past the lump beginning to form. He wants to beg her to stop, leave him alone. No, no -- he won’t give her the satisfaction. 

“Deputy ----  Joey.”        They have come past the point of him addressing her by rank. Bonded together by tragedy, by horror. Looking at her now, Alex can’t begin to imagine what she really went through in that bunker. A few moments, he stares at her with raised brow before removing his hand from against her knee. He leans back in his chair, one he has spent many hours watching over her as she rested since they got back. Constantly worried that she wouldn’t wake. A guilt eating him from the inside out. Not that he would admit to it, not yet.      “I know you’re pissed off. Trust me, I get it. But I’m not going to ask you to fight when you barely made it out of the last one.”

How  selfish  that  now,  only fueled by his own fear of the unknown, the unseen, that he thinks they should have left when they had the chance. Walked from that church and left well enough alone. No, no. The Seeds are a poison, running deep through the veins of Hope County and destroying everything they touch. Yet here he stands, using the gun that he reaches for now from the bench as an antidote. She appears in the corner of his eye and that’s where the barrel is quickly trained. As quickly as she comes, she goes. His anger swells. “Is that what you tell them, huh?”        He won’t let himself be swayed by her mind tricks. Searching for her, ha! The idea is laughable. If he could find the strength within himself to recognise humour anymore, he would. The only reason he looks for her now is to bring about her end. A bittersweet retribution to all the lives she has stolen.            “All those innocent people you make jump off that thing? All those bodies I woke up next to -- those were people. With lives, families. Tell me how that’s supposed to be righteous, how is that part of his plan?”        Despite the increase of the harsh tone with each word, his gun trembles slightly in his fingertips. He suddenly feels deathly cold. 

He hears her before he sees her.    The unmistakable quiet sounds of sickly sweet humming that fills the air. Nothing to accompany it: no crunch of dry grass under foot, no sound of engine dying, nothing. It is second nature now when he feels the hair stand up on the back of his neck to look for her. How long has it been since he let himself rest? Afraid to close his eyes, afraid if he does that she will find him and he will be taken, forever lost. Just like the Marshal. He thought here he might be safe. An abandoned cabin. Just another empty home with a handwritten note to from a loved one raving about Joseph, about Eden’s Gate, about the god damn cult. Alex could barely bring himself to read it. The air shifts inside now, moonlight bouncing off shards of broken glass beneath the window and catching in his eyes like stars. He glances back over his shoulder, to where he thinks to be the source of the humming. Nothing. His eyes dart to his weapon, laid out on the kitchen bench among unwashed dishes, covered with rotting food scraps. But that isn’t the reason he feels sick to his stomach.                              “I know you’re here. Just --- stop fucking around.”                                           A madman, talking to an empty room.