she's seen her fair share of horrifying things, but this feels ... different. worse, somehow. more raw and obscene ( perhaps it's because this feels personal ā ellison's heartaches are her heartaches, even after this much time). still, that being said, she does not flinch away from the pictures that he showcases or cower at the information he offers up about the murders. instead, nancy looks at it with that keen journalist eye, listens carefully and scribbles notes down onto the notebook in her lap. locations and names, that sort of thing, every little detail ellison offers her.
the pictures that are scattered around tell a story of families torn apart for some entity's sick amusement, and for all of their gruesomeness, none of them make her chest ache as much as the one of the oswalt family standing in front of that goddamned house.
nancy had known what happened to his family. of course she had. the headlines had been scathing, and the internet detectives had all seemed to come to the same conclusion : ellison oswalt had finally snapped. that the murders and disappearance of his little girl were his way of getting his name back out there, just like it was when kentucky blood had first released. hell, even once his name had been scratched from the list of suspects by the authorities, those wannabes had still ran his name through the mud, theorizing and continuing to make claims that he had committed the crimes.
nancy had never believed that bullshit for a second.
her notetaking comes to a halt. the reminder of why he cannot stay has her teeth sinking into her bottom lip, blue eyes shifting from the collection of images to instead look over at ellison.
the sight of him almost breaks her heart.
ā ... where are you going to go, ell? ā
his life is never going to be normal again. he will always be running, this curse following him wherever he goes, waiting for him to rest, to slip up. he will always be on the move, always trying to stop this thing from hurting anyone else. it is a terribly lonely existence ā and nancy doesn't think she would be able to forgive herself if she let ellison walk out that front door tomorrow all by himself with nothing but that waiting for him.
she reaches for her coffee mug and takes a long sip from it, passing the remainder of the drink over to ellison afterwards. he looks like he needs the caffeine more than she does. nancy then looks away, attention briefly shifting back onto the pictures and files spread out across her kitchen table. her gaze lands on the photo of ellison and his family once more, and in that moment, nancy knows exactly what she's going to do.
deep down, a part of her had known that it would turn out this way as soon as she had opened her front door and let him inside, no questions asked. after everything he's ever done for her ... she can't just leave him alone. not like this.
ā i'm coming with you. ā the words are spoken with that trademark stubbornness of hers ā ellison should be familiar enough with her to know what it means when nancy takes that tone.
when she sets her mind to something, she has to see it through.
ā you're not doing this by yourself. i want to help you. ā
let me help keep you safe remains unspoken.
@finalslay, from here.
Nancy sounds so fucking sad for him Ellison wants to tell her he isn't worth the trouble. He did this to himself, after all, and for all the mistakes he's made in life, he at least is man enough to know when the fault is entirely with him. If only he'd never looked at those God damn reels, never moved to that house, never quit his job as a professor and decided true crime was his real calling--
"What?"
He's only just curled his hand around the mug passed to him when Nancy makes her big, dramatic declaration. The thought of Nancy being haunted by the same god that lives in the edges of his own vision makes him nauseous.
"No," Ellison starts, doing his damnedest to sound firm, "you are not coming. What the fuck are you talking about, Nance?
"I didn't come home for that."
But it does beg the question: what did he return home for? He hadn't even bothered passing by his parents' place; the rental car parked outside Nancy's home only made it to one destination. Somewhere deep down he must have known Nancy would offer her help. Even around the fear that came with thinking he'd fucked their relationship up forever by failing to keep in contact, some part of him knew that Nancy Wheeler was still his best friend. Once upon a time he'd dropped everything to help her find one of her other best friends-- surely by helping him with his troubles, she was only returning the favour.
Ellison almost laughs about it. Even when all he felt was a deep sense of longing (he missed her, and this, and getting to share coffee out of one cup because they were too broke to buy two), he still managed to find someone to use, selfishly, for himself. Knowing how she is, there isn't a scenario where Nancy doesn't offer her help. There isn't a single branch of reality where Ellison, by coming here at his lowest, doesn't doom her to suffer with him.
By God, though, if he won't try to persuade her otherwise.
"You don't... listen, Bughuul doesn't even know you exist." Nancy isn't marked by the films the way Ellison is. The way his children were, because they'd peeked through his recklessly open office door and been discovered by a timeless entity. "You shouldn't have to uproot your whole life for me. Not when I haven't been here for you in..."
Shame twists his stomach. Fuck. It's been too many years.
"Nancy, you can't just risk your life for some idiot who couldn't even bother to send Christmas cards."
