Chapter 8--Waiting for the Beast

I really am following his footsteps. I can’t ignore that. There’s no excusing what I did yesterday; I really should’ve known better after all this time. I heard them; they snapped me out of my episode. Why couldn’t I overcome my senses faster?

Because I was scared, scared of what bringing me to my senses would bring… I suppose. I gotta stop hurting myself. I was going through a lot in that moment, even if it was self inflicted. You can’t rush recovery.

I’ve been through it before, though. Patterns always overcome the senses, so why did my senses overcome the patterns? I mean, as much as people hate it, pain feels good. Wallowing feels good, and wallowing is one cruel serpent. If I was better, I’d be taking this easier. And I’m obsessed with that, just like the Noise was. I’ve done something very bad, and I don’t know what to do. I really should know.

It’s raining bullets outside, just as expected. It’s pouring bad because it’s always pouring bad. High time we probably start waiting for Peddito, I guess. I doubt I will help. Bo and I are certainly closer to them than the average person, but I’m… well there’s certainly a clear difference between me and the Doise. And Doisette works harder than me. They cling onto hope, and they cling hard. I can’t do it. I’m scared. Scared of when the tasks comes to my senses, and it’s not some kind of wistful dream. I’m no fighter. I can harbor as much rage as I want and deescalate for myself, but I think I run away from problems a lot. I’ll bring up complaints and work on what needs to be done—but it’s all minuscule. When will I do something big, something meaningful? And I have yet to do that. I’m following his footsteps.

The door to my bedroom creaks open, but I do not turn my head and stay seated on my bed. “Noisette, can you help me prepare supplies for the camp?” Bo requests, struggling to increase his volume.

I can’t do it.

“I’ll help you in a moment,” I reply bluntly.

Bo laughs weakly, “I lied. I got most of the stuff down and I don’t really need help. I’m a tough cookie. But—it’s hard to keep my spirits up when you’re not doing great yourself.”

“I’m sorry. I know that only means so much—”

“It hurts to see you in pain, Noisette.”

You’re out of your mind… don’t open your arms. I can’t take it.

I snap myself to look at them, their form somewhat spindly. “What about you? You’re the one that went unconscious!”

“You were bleeding!”

Don’t say a word. You’ll make it worse. My eyes feel warm.

Bo hovers a short distance, getting closer. “…I’m still recovering from yesterday, I can’t lie. But I know you’re smart. You know it was an accident, right?”

My heart feels warm. I know. It just… I hate calling it that.

“I mean… I should’ve been better in that moment, I really should’ve known better,” I counter, my shoulders heavy.

“It’s my fault.”

I crawl over to the other side of my bed in a panic. “N-no no! It isn’t! It really isn’t!”

Bo’s head hangs low, obscuring their eyes. “You would’ve known better if I had told you my uh… whole issue.”

Bo pauses. I expect for them to continue speaking. Nothing comes.

If I urge them to speak, it’ll make everything worse. I would be violating them once again. Just do nothing.

“I uhm…” he trails off, sounded choked up. “It still gets to me. I-I need to j-just get myself back on track. I should tell you the truth once I get b-better.”

“There’s no time,” I blurt grimly, without purpose.

Bo slowly raises their head, revealing their eyes glimmering with tears. I think I made things worse.

They look at the window in silent horror, their breathing quiet but heavy.

He forces himself to smile. “How about I tell you when this whole Peddito thing is all over? Whatever outcome happens, I’ll tell you.”

“…If that’s fine with you, I’ll take it.”

“Alright. We should be heading over to the forest, anyway. Take care of yourself and we’ll get going, o-okay?”

“Okay.”

Bo leaves my room.

I feel like it’s still my fault. But I mean… why haven’t they told me yet? We’ve been close together for months, spending hours together and sharing close moments—I feel like I’d know the answer by now. And not knowing that is just making everything harder. Sure, I know what sets them off, but it can only mean much when you don’t know the “why”. Why doesn’t he swear? Why do they shut down with most sexual topics? Why, no matter how happy our moments are, does the heart on their tail remain broken?

That tail breaks my heart as much as it is broken itself. I should watch myself when I say things like that. But it’s sad! Bo’s always changing; no form stays for long and there’s something nice about that. There’s freedom in change. But that tail never changes, no matter what. Even the cape tapers in their mouth changes into a tongue, bowtie, or little ears, or teeth, or a mustache—it feels wrong. As much as Bo likes to do wolf roleplays, it’s apparent he wants a break from that tail too. They’re scared of it, fearful of whatever could happen if a person got near it. Maybe I am obsessive for noticing it, but I can’t help it. Everytime, every single time, me or someone else has gotten close to their tail, it snaps to some other direction, like some kind of muscle reflex.

I can’t help but feel like it’s my fault. If I really was so good, something, anything, about that mysterious little detail would change. If I could soften the Noise’s heart—

Forget it.

Do what you can for this little trip, but there’s no use in doing better. I just can’t do it.

I head out of my room and into the kitchen, where Bo is stocking up food for the trip.

“I think I have a portable stove lying around somewhere,” I comment blandly.

“Yeah, I think I recall you talking about using one for catering events. Bring it out.”

I haven’t been to a catering event in a while. A couple years, actually. I think I have it tucked away in one of my cabinets.

I crouch down to reach the bottom cabinets where I put my appliances. I get more business than I did before, so doing catering would be tiring. I miss a little. There’s more people in my cafe, but it still makes me feel lonely.

There it is. Looks to be in decent condition. I pull it out and set it aside with all our other supplies.

Bo starts to do inventory. “I think that’s all of it. Food, water, appliances—goodness, the car battery for Fakey!

“I think the Doise mentioned they’re all good on those.” I ruminate a little, “…It doesn’t feel right to make Doise and Doisette pay for those things…”

Bo frowns. “It doesn’t. H-how about we return the favor one day?”

I put on a fake smile. “Sure.”

We stare at the supplies in silence, hesitant to make the transition.

Bo snickers nervously, “w-we’re really doing this, huh?”

“There’s nothing else to do, I guess.”

Bo takes in the situation better than me, though they are certainly not happy about it. “Doisette’s gonna arrive any minute now. Let’s take these downstairs.”

We make it to the forest and, after walking for several minutes, approach the raised centerpiece of the forest. Fakey’s been carrying most of our stuff, and is trying to do their best to tolerate the mud. It’s raining pretty heavy now, but it’s expected to flood in a couple days.

The Doise raises a rotting finger out of their coat sleeve and points it towards an opening in the cliff slide. “That-uh, that cave is where we’ll be camping.”

Fakey starts leveling the rocky wall, hauling all of our most heavy supplies like it’s nothing. The cave is some several yards above ground, and climbing it would probably be miserable for any typical human. Bo, who’s taken on a larger form than usual to carry their share of the materials, flutters up to help with the task.

The Doise and Doisette are carrying some things with them too. I really could carry more. It’s hard to keep my eyes off of Doise.

I sure do look a lot like him.

“Do you guys want me to carry you guys up there? You’ve got supplies with and whatnot…” I question aimlessly, hoping to feel useful.

“Yeah yeah,” Doisette answers, gesturing me forward. They both approach me, anticipating picking them up.

It would probably be easier to transport them one at a time. I do not need this sense of guilt right now. Doisette’s making me feel less guilty right now. I pick him up and take him to the cave’s opening with no real issue. It’s less of an issue of strength and more of balancing or space management, I don’t know.

By the time I was descending down, Bo zips downwards and starts conversing with Doise, then brings her up with them. Well… I guess I don’t have to carry any more weight.

We start setting up camp, the heart of it being an old, above-average sized tent that had a couple frays and scars, but was well-kempt overall. I doubt it would have any chance battling against these heavy storms, so it’s real fortunate they found this cave. I help organize our resources: the electronics and hardware in a sturdy corner of the tent, the food and drinks in coolers and bags neighboring the tent, the bedding as the centerpiece. As spacious as the tent is, Fakey is still too big for it and lugs a senile, beaten up mattress close to the tent and clumsily slams some kind of weighted blanket on top of it. Fakey shakes itself off like a dog before dipping its head into the tent’s main opening.

“My memory is making faults; how long are food rations likely to last?” Fakey queries.

Bo thinks for a moment. “If I recall correctly, the only people that need to eat here are Doise and Doisette. With what I packed, we certainly have a week’s worth of food.”

“We also packed a bit of food but, if shit hits the fan, I don’t really need to eat either. Sure, it’ll hurt a little, but I’ll be okay,” the Doise adds blankly.

“I hope it doesn’t get to the point,” Doisette remarks. “Peddito’s real sporadic. The longer we have to wait for him, the more likely I’ll get fired from my job.”

Something about that ushers silence within us, and the outside world keeps hollering as the rain rockets onto the Earth.

“I mean…” Bo attempts to interject the silence, “it’s just one of those things you can’t do without risk. It’s—it’s just scary.”

Sure, Bo and I have jobs, but I own the cafe. I can keep it closed as long as I need, and I don’t have to fire anyone. Money’s less of a concern for Bo and I; we got some kind of funds to fall on. These storms are going on for a week or two, and we’ll probably stay for as long as that, whether we kill Peddito or not. I can take a week.

That worker paranoia doesn’t set in until after two weeks, right? I’ve unlearned that! It was hard, but it’s over. At least, it’s easier to manage. There’s no way I’ll get to the point I deprive myself of sleep and kill myself. It’s over. It has to be over. This fire does not need gasoline. This fire does not need another fire.

“I-i-it iss of a distinct fright…,” Fakey heaves, “but at l-least we are t-together.”

I reach out my hand to stroke Fakey’s—the tenseness in my chest. I stop. That’s the tension I get with—just don’t pet them. Stay away.

“You’re right, Fakey,” I respond quietly.

“Win or lose, there’s a good chance we can still come back from it with both of our legs,” Bo adds.

Doisette’s brow furrows. I know, man. I know. He ignores Bo’s comment, “Fakey, keep your senses open while you scout. He can come at anytime.”

Fakey nods, and heads out of the tent, grabbing their raincoat and scuttling out into the storm.

“And now… we must wait,” he sighs.

And I better keep myself in check.

Day 1, midday:

It’s hard to bide time already. It’s one thing to only have so much to do in the forest, but it’s another to be around these people all day. Not like the others are unpleasant, and Bo keeps decent company like always, Doise and Doisette… aren’t very talkative. The forest isn’t a dead zone, so Doise was able to set up a hotspot on her laptop for all of us. If that backfires, apparently Fakey is capable of providing some kind of connection for us, albeit a rudimentary one. The Doise does some kind of freelance video editing, so if worse comes to worst, at least they’re not entirely deprived of earning money. I don’t peruse my phone very often, so I don’t care much about the hotspot. At least I brought a couple books to read, though it’s only a matter of time that I burn through their usage.

Doise’s is doing some video editing, and I think Doisette is outside the tent fixing up Fakey’s clothes. Bo’s drawing right now. He brought along one of his sketchpads to help kill time. I know they prefer drawing digitally, so I wonder if Sparkle’s doing any drawing at the moment. Probably not. They’re very shy. They’re surprisingly chipper right now. I mean, Bo sometimes says he’s simple to please, so there’s no need to be shocked. I’m more narrow-minded than I thought.

Boredom weighing on me, I take a peek at what they’re drawing. The usual: furries, dragons, kissing furry women, that cartoon leaf guy that I forgot the name of.

“I’m running out of drawing ideas,” Bo blurts. They snap their head towards me, “’Ya want me to draw you somethin’?”

Oh, okay. “Uhm, sure. How about… a rabbit wearing sailor clothes?” I suggest.

“Can you draw Lovermouse?” Doise dryly chimes in, not looking away from his computer screen.

“Lovermouse? Who’s—oh that’s right! That weird Sonic thing you showed me one time! I like that guy’s face.”

I don’t remember that character from Sonic. Man, I don’t check up on video games as much as I used to. I feel like a grandma.

Bo starts sketching away, keeping their sketchpad huddled towards them like usual. The Doise continues typing away at her laptop from the other side of the tent while Doisette tinkers away on some DIY patch beside her. I really don’t have much to do.

“Were you ever into creepypastas, Bo?” Doise asks.

“I never read ‘em. I just liked seeing people make the popular ones do some stupid antics.”

“Slenderman and Red Mist got me real bad as a kid, man. They made me so paranoid, but I still loved reading those shitty stories.”

“Kids are just curious, aren’t they?”

I never worked with kids.

“Nah, I was never a curious kid. I was only curious when I got scared and it was really awful. Most of the time I didn’t care about much—I don’t know what was happening before I was six, though.”

I shuffle my hands as their conversation drones on.

“Ah youth… it’s one of those things angels can only observe but not feel.”

“I don’t recommend it. I’d kill myself if I had to be a kid again, bruh. Being a Spanish-speaking kid on the internet was hell.”

“English wasn’t your first language, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, how did you learn it—if it’s not iffy to ask?”

“I grew up around the internet. A lot of people online speak English, so I just got—what’s the word—assimilated into that, I guess.”

And I don’t know a lick of Spanish, even though I’m technically Mexican.

I’m a little faceless, aren’t I? That’s a result of being materialized into the world rather than born. No development, no start point—just the premise. I still change—but I can’t die. I’m getting frustrated that these people don’t speak unless someone initiates it, but I really can’t add anything to this current conversation.

Bo’s head flops over, eyes bright despite the grimness of the outside world. “You ever read creepypastas, Noisette?”

I laugh synthetically, “Oh no. I was never big on horror. I-I’m not squeamish or anything. I like some horror movies, but the genre doesn’t interest me much.”

My eyes wander and I see Doise looking at me. Hard to read as always. I’m not strong enough to not be unsettled by it. Her head is somewhat tilted and her brows have a brooding quality, frustrated by some cause that I can’t fathom. Her face undershoots a lot from what I’ve witnessed; her thoughts go deeper than her eyelids may droop and her nerves are tenser than her jaw can clench.

Did I do something wrong?

Wait, it’s noon.

“I’ll get some lunch for y’all,” I announce with a slight meekness.

As I’m getting up, I hear a page rip and flop around once it’s freed.

“Noisette! Here’s your drawing!” Bo calls out.

It’s exactly what I asked for. It reminds me of myself.

At least I know Bo likes me.

The drawing looks a little rushed.

I wake up the earliest. All the others take advantage of any hours they can get. I could sleep in, but I guess I’m just used to having to be up early for my job. And I’m not at my job right now, so what am I to do?

I would sleep in if it was warmer at our camp. We only got so many blankets and the cave only protects us so much from the cold. The rain’s a bit lighter now, so at least the noise has been tolerable as of late.

I could do an inventory, I suppose. I could go outside, though it’s barely light out. I’m still a little groggy and I’m pretty damn cold. It’s learned helplessness; I can just give myself fur, make my body waterproof—I don’t know!

Do that in front of my friends? You know what that makes you feel. There’s no time to be a pervert. I don’t want it to be sexual; I just thought… it doesn’t always have to be some kind of fetish. I’m thinking practically. I don’t have to be human; I’m not human! Who cares if I turn myself into some kind of fuzzy dragon, or rabbit, or whatever?

It won’t go away. I mean, I brought my medication with me; medication only gets rid of so much. I have to deal with this kind of stuff for as long as I live. At least I’m only a tad nervous instead of an inflamed mess.

The sound of the rain is a little soothing. I unzip the tent and take a couple steps towards the mouth of the cave. There’s nothing really comfortable to sit around here, so I sit down with legs fully bent on the cold—god, that stings! I shudder. Now I’m fully awake whether I like it or not.

Stop torturing yourself. Just give yourself a little bit of fur. Nobody else is awake. I would’ve taken this better a week ago.

Fine.

There’s not much thinking to transformation; it’s as automatic as moving your body. You only feel something if you linger on it. It’s hard not to think of a cozy little cottage right now. The heat that wafts through it, tending to every little thing inside. It able to be so free because it’s prepared. Our refuge is a result of waiting for the dread come in, but perhaps… it would be good to see it as some kind of hibernation.

And now I am a bear.

I feel warm. Literally! I can take this kind of warm. Better savor—don’t jinx it.

I just need a moment to close my eyes and take in the sound of the rain. Breathe for a moment. It could come any minute, but I have no way of knowing when. Maybe that is a sign to let my guards down.

Patter, patter, patter. The rain sputters endlessly. I can hear it trace the shape of the landscape and the wet ground below. As much as the wind shakes those trees, they’ll never get wet. I wonder if the forest has gotten any flooding yet. Maybe my meditation is getting too grim

“Noisette?” Fakey quietly calls out to me.

My eyes hoist themselves open.

“Ah!” I blurt, trying to obscure my body. “M-morning Fakey!”

Fakey’s expression brightens. “You’ve changed shape! The old times haven’t moved out of my files!” They gallop towards me excitedly and start to chant, “I recall, I recall! Like dough away from the chain! The chain that loves the grainnnn and wane and…” it melts into humming.

It’s hard to forget something like that. We used to alter our forms like some kind of charades-type deal; our friendship kicked off from those games. Those games never made me feel… weird. Now I’m always scared they will.

“Heh, those were a long time ago, weren’t they?”

It’s just a game.

“Decades and years ago, yessss…” its reply plummets into a heavy heave. “I… I know they happened and I remember them, b-but… I wish I c-could have it happen again—not in my head but in this world,” they confess.

It’s not like Fakey can’t consent—NO! I don’t want to do it that way! I want it to be a game! If I could make it a game again, I want to! I want to, I want to, I want to!

I shake my head furiously, scuttling and shoving myself onto one of the cave walls. Fakey approaches me, concerned.

“Have the… memories gone moldy?” It asks, sadly.

I’m so used to having the help Fakey instead of Fakey helping me.

“I uh,” I stammer, trying not to cry. “I love—they mean a lot to me, still. It’s just… complicated.”

“Do you want… to talk?” It drawls and tilts its head.

What a debt to place onto you. Sure, sharing pain cuts it in half, but how long will that discount last? At which point will I be unable to help myself and it starts becoming a whole, and eventually twice that? If I confess, when do I force you to become indebted to me? Sure, awareness begets some prevention undoubtedly, but you can never be perfect.

“Would it be a false answer to ask if it bears relation… to the Noise?”

And as much as I don’t want it to haunt me, I want to be perfect because I was made to be her perfection, some kind of raw, material goodness. You came from the same place I did and you came out better.

I sniffle. “It’s a hard issue to solve.”

“C-c-can it be helped?”

“I’d rather be left alone right now. I’m sorry.”

Fakey’s head rears itself. “Very well.” They turn around and walk towards their mattress. “I will conserve my battery and r-rest. I—I need to rest, b-but I am always willing to help.” It curls on its mattress, hoisting the blanket onto its lanky body.

I feel cold.

Day 3, evening:

Maybe I really shouldn’t talking to these people. I feel too old for this—okay, Bo’s older than me and they hit it off well, but still! Sure, I know some internet culture, but I don’t really care. Not that I don’t want to care but…

My face doesn’t look exactly like his, but I wonder if the similarity ever frightens her. I’ll speak when spoken to, at least; there’s no benefit in leaving someone hanging. I’ll do my part, but I doubt I’ll be any more meaningful than that.

It doesn’t help that the Doise has been acting unusual lately. Spare some conversations, the guy’s been more reserved, more low energy too. She tends to be the last one to go to bed and she sleeps lightly. As much as his face has gotten harder to read, he’s been getting more fidgety. Every now and again, I see her tracing her face within the outskirts of my peripheral vision. She’s holding something inside, though intervening on some things ends up making them worse.

He’s out right now, apparently needed some kind of bathroom break. The cave’s entrance has a decently pronounced ledge to give some privacy for doing that sort of business. She’s been out there for a while.

Doisette’s face is tensed. I hate seeing it linger.

“What’s bothering you, Doisette?” I ask.

“The wind’s been picking up lately,” he states. “She’s been out there longer than usual.”

Bo enters the conversation. “I haven’t checked out there; the wind isn’t strong enough to topple someone over, no?”

“Man, I don’t know!” Doisette responds, his stress becoming more outward. “I’m no scientist, but it’s loud as hell out there.”

“I’m no scientist either…” Bo sighs in agreement.

“I’m going out there.” Doisette stands up and exits the tent, his steps speedy, heavy, and then brief.

“Oh my god!”

Bo and I rush out of the tent. The Doise is standing right in front of Doisette, dripping with remnants of rain and blood weakly pouring out of the socket where his nose once was.

“What happened!? Did you get attacked? Is Peddito here?”

I can’t hear the Doise’s response. Too much rain, too much wind, and too much weakness in her voice. I inch a little closer towards the couple.

“Why did you hurt yourself, love?” Doisette question her, trying to hide the sadness in his voice.

“I can’t take it…” Doise speaks up. “He’s everywhere. In the past and in the future, he’s cursed my reality in every point in time. I can’t stand denying it. I’m cursed, and I’ve been cursed since being born.”

And I’m looking at her, and there’s no denying she sees me.

Doisette grabs Doise’s hands. “We’re doing something about it, o-okay? We’re gonna kill that thing and life will be easier once we do.”

“But I’ll look like him for the rest of my life…” he counters with utter despair too congested to burst. “I’m cursed… I’m cursed.”

God. He has to look at us, too. Surrounded by the faces of someone who… who…

I’m scared to say that because I’m a coward, a coward just like him.

No no, he’s delusional, not you. I shouldn’t get upset from that; she doesn’t know what she’s talking about.

Doisette gets choked up, lunging at Doise to give her a hug. “No no no,” he whimpers. “His face never got as skinny as yours. His skin was never dark and he didn’t have c-curly hair.” His whimper turns into a bark, “I don’t see him! I never did! I only see you! You, only you!”

The blood from his wound drips onto his partner’s hair and seeps into the roots. The Doise slumps into Doisette’s embrace, her gaping eyes looking to nowhere like a corpse. Is it shame or fear that she feels? Whatever it is, I doubt the Doise is buying the narrative he’s hearing.

“I—I’m… I’m sorry…” She creaks.

“It’s not your fault, please…” Doisette sobs. He grabs onto the Doise’s hand. “L-let’s tend to your wound, okay?”

“Fine…” she sighs as she’s dragged towards one of bags we have laying about the cave.

It’s a sluggish process with no rush at all, as if either of them were both wounded or this routine was so frequent they were both sick of it. If I didn’t know better, I would’ve assumed Doisette hated the Doise—don’t ruminate on it; you’ll probably end up making it worse.

They sit quietly, heads hanging low as Doisette places pressure onto the Doise’s face to block the bleeding… and I’m sitting here, doing nothing and saying nothing. Bo’s doing the same, but, I mean… he freezes up; he can’t help it. I can help it. I know what to do… kinda. I know I’m certainly supposed to help take care of the injury and I should try to bring him back to reality, but I just can’t. I want to, but I can’t. It’s like she’s a stranger to me—some poor, unfortunate homeless man having a breakdown on the sidewalk! Just another sound in the city, another distressed call in the city that you can’t do anything about, so all you can do is block out the noise.

The Noise. The Noise. It’s just noise. Don’t think about Noise. There’s no noise nor Noise, just stop. Noise… Noise… Noise…

Bo’s face is looking like the Noise right now.

Day 4, midnight:

I awake suddenly, hyperventilating about a nightmare that I’m struggling to recall nor do I want to remember. Maybe it’s the weather; it’s really damn loud out right now. I’m surprised the Doise and Doisette are still asleep; they’re probably tired from yesterday. It’s really bad out there. I haven’t looked out there for in a good while. The wind’s currently tapering out, clamoring anxiously before it melts down once again. Even if it sounds like it’s entering remission, it’s still pretty loud. Did the wind knock down a tree? I unzip the tent and tiptoe out of it, trying not to step on or interrupt anyone else. God it’s cold out here, better unzip the tent so I don’t make it everyone else’s—

Bo wasn’t in the tent.

I peek though an opening through one of the netted windows of the tent to double check. They’re not there.

I snap my head around, expecting not to find them, but I end up catching sight of them glowing at the mouth of the cave, the lightest gray I can catch sight around here. Why are they out here?

The wind’s clamoring turns into a murmur as I approach Bo, who is sitting near the edge of the cliff with their back facing me. Can they even see? I doubt Bo can keep a good enough grip even if things are dying down right now. He’s tiny—somewhat incorporeal, as per any religious being, but still tiny.

As I open my mouth Bo starts to speak.

“If it hurts to talk tangibly, talk transparently.”

It sounds like they’re talking to no one.

“She’s not a client, she’s my friend,” he corrects. “Not Doise, not Doisette, not Fakey. They’re my neighbors. I want to talk to them like… like people!”

They’re talking with someone else.

Should I move? Angels are blind in the dark; I can see them but they can’t see me. If I wanna snoop—why am I snooping?! What am I supposed to do?

The other speaks again. “I’m just laying out what has been effective in the past. We take the bullet, and we shoot it as ethically as possible.”

“You don’t know how to shoot, how to quit.”

“I’m not supposed to quit.” That person takes a moment to think. “Besides, you’re not good at shooting ethically, either.”

“I don’t want to argue,” is stated, hurt present in the voice.

“It would’ve been over within a week anyway, the action was needless. It’s unfortunate you got in the crossfire, horrific even, but you could wait longer. We’ve been together for so many years; how did you not consider just handing me the towel when you couldn’t take it?”

“Why didn’t you throw the towel when we had the time?”

“We all failed; it was a group failure.”

A pause. The wind gains back some of its former speed, verbalizing it for the world.

“You feel guilty. You feel guilty because you can’t do your job anymore,” one accuses.

“I only feel so much, and you only feel so much of it, too. You know there’s someone here to hold all of that.”

The wind gets louder.

“I don’t want to think about him! Let’s just deal with our issues and confront him some other time, o-okay?”

“I thought you wanted to be productive about this.”

“Leave me alone! I just… I don’t want to—”

A bolt of lightning roars, striking a tree in the distance and shining brightly in its carnage. It sends both of us back, Bo tumbling backwards into my legs in blind shock, almost causing me to trip. Their head shoots up at me, their eyes filled with pure horror.

“How much did you hear?” Bo interrogates sharply.

I don’t want to lie. But what would telling the truth do? No no, be honest. They’re your friend.

I try to speak up over the wind. “I… I don’t think I heard enough to get what you were talking about.” I crouch down, about to help them up before they suddenly dart back. I couldn’t help but lie a little.

Bo’s face shifts into a grim expression and they get up from the ground. “Don’t give me the help.”

I watch as Bo flutters back towards the tent, my form frozen as the wind starts howling once more.

Day 5, morning:

It’s colder than out than usual. Nothing I can do about that. Just go back to sleep. Let yourself drift aimlessly for a little while longer, okay?

God that’s cold! Really cold! The blankets feel heavier than usual. I open my eyes.

Oh god.

Doisette shoots upwards out of shock. “Oh god!”

Everyone else is now alert. The rain’s seeped into our tent! It’s in the mattress, the blankets, the pillows, and it’s creeping towards the Doise’s bag. There’s a rip in the tent’s ceiling; most of the water must’ve gotten in through there.

Doisette rushes out of the tent to check on our supplies, not saying a word.

“How long has it been flooding?” I ask, panicked.

“I don’t know,” Bo replies. They notice the problematic hole in our tent and fly towards it to inspect the source further.

“Fuck, fuck no!” Doisette exclaims.

The Doise has joined Bo in examining the damage, though she gives a worried look at Doisette’s call.

I head outside to inspect the damage. The wind had changed direction at some point, resulting in the rain inadvertently accumulating inside the cave. The floor is littered with large pools of water actively being fed by the storm.

The frozen food’s okay, drinks too; they’re all in the coolers. Fakey’s bed is soaked. Doisette is frantically sifting through our resources on the right side, muttering countless nos under his breath. I’ll take the left—my portable stove can’t be affected. Shit, looks like the water got to two of the dry food bags. My pastries… they weren’t high effort but… I put effort in them.

I see the portable stove in the corner of my eye, huddled in a dry crevice just inches away from getting waterlogged. I snatch it and cling to it tight as I further survey the damage.

“The battery!” Doisette blurts urgently. “Where’s the battery!?”

“It’s dry!” The Doise hollers back. “The rain didn’t reach it yet!”

“Keep the damn battery safe!” He orders. He snaps towards me, “the stove’s okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Shit, where’s a dry place to put these?”

“Bo’s suitcase, it’s plastic!” I exclaim.

I head inside, going as fast as I can while holding a portable stove. Doisette rushes inside the tent with the first aid kit and is trying to sew up the hole in the tent. I open Bo’s suitcase. He’s taken out most of the stuff he packed in there. Their sketchbook is soaked, and thank god they didn’t bring any of their digital drawing supplies. Would be even more money down the drain. There’s enough room for the stove to fit in there and potentially the battery too. Bo hands me the car battery through the unzipped entrance of the tent and I place it in there, just barely fitting. I hastily, but carefully, zip the suitcase.

I hear a wet thud near the cave entrance.

“Fakey!” Doisette cries out.

I peek outside to see Fakey, wearing its rain clothes, trying to get its footing on the flooded cave floor. They say something, but the weather muffles their voice from where I’m from. They’re panting a good bit; is the weather stressing them out? I rush over towards Doisette and Fakey, trying not to think about how horribly damp my clothes have gotten.

“You gotta help us! Most of the electronics are safe, but a lot of stuff is in trouble,” Doisette explains.

“We hhhhave to leave,” Fakey states bluntly, wide-eyed seemingly from fear.

“W-what do you mean?!” Doisette’s distress gets to them, and they start shifting their head erratically.

“Dry… there’s no dryness here… everything ceased under sopping shavings—,“ it suddenly blurts, “LEAVE THE TENT!”

I hear the splashing of Doise’s footsteps as she runs towards the conversation. He and Bo are holding some of our valuables.

“Where else is there to go?!”

“We have to leaveeeeee…” Fakey slurs, straining its mind.

He starts getting audibly irritated. “Fakey, there’s no where else to go. This is our only shelter! W-we can just cover up the entrance and work something out—we can’t just leave!”

“I made an uncovering by myself; a smaller mouth in the cliff is dry!” Fakey sputters quickly.

“THERE’S NO TIME TO LEAVE!” Doisette snarls, urging Fakey to retract into its body like an abused animal.

They linger in that pose, eyes vacant and almost unconscious. Fuck, there’s really no time to fight; I gotta—

It snatches Doisette out of nowhere, clinging onto him tightly and jumping out of the cave. Doisette screams and rambles nonsensically, his words becoming less distinguishable as he shrinks in the stormy forest.

I look back at the tent. It’s sopping, it’s sinking, it doesn’t look anything like the tent they used to call home. This was home to them. It’s vaguely a home to me, the worst kind of home—I suppose if I’m saying that I truly don’t understand the weight of what has been lost.

I look outside. We have to go. There really is no other choice. Well, Bo and I can’t die from any diseases, but we can definitely spread them. The conditions would just make Fakey and Doise more miserable and Doisette would be put in an even worse state.

I open my mouth.

Bo speaks, “take everything that’s salvageable and wait for Fakey to return. It’ll likely be back soon…”

I didn’t speak soon enough.

I quickly wade through the cave to grab the electronics I put in Bo’s suitcase. The tent’s been left open; they must’ve left it unzipped in a hurry. God, this suitcase is heavy—don’t drag it. Carry it. I’ve carried heavier loads, taken heavier loads.

Huffing and puffing, I head back to the entrance to see that Fakey is back. The Doise, who, like the rest of us, is drenched and without appropriate clothes, clings onto Fakey as they find an optimal way to hold what valuables Doise brought to them. Once they were settled, Fakey leaped into the outside world once again and we followed. Bo’s wings are feathery; I wonder if they’ll tolerate the rain…

We swoop downwards as Fakey makes its descent, watching from above as it hops across debris in a cunning panic. Bo’s body is trembling and his face morose as he tries to stay stable in the sky. We turn left to where the cave was and Fakey grows an extra set of limbs to assist in scaling the cliff. They deposit the Doise into an obscured, fern covered cubby and lets out a call to grab our attention. The opening is closer to the ground than the other cave was… I wonder when this cave will flood too.

Bo and I enter the cave and it is around half the height than the previous one, though most of it is so short I have to kneel to avoid bumping my head. Fakey can barely fit inside, having to squeeze itself through the eye-shaped opening of the cave. It’s slightly damp, but it’s definitely drier. Everyone is ventilating in their own way. Fakey dry heaves, Bo’s breaths quiver, Doise is barely audible as he lays on the floor, Doisette struggles to regulate through his growls of anguish, and I gasp like I’m on the brink of tears, but I can’t cry.

“I got our phones,” the Doise announces in between breaths.

“I got your laptop,” Bo adds.

“I got the car battery and stove,” I say.

Fakey strains themself as they try to raise themself in the cave, pushing their body against the ceiling once they got on all fours. “And I,” Fakey begins, “will acquire all that can be archived.”

Don’t hurt yourself.

I stumble on the ground as I try to reach out to it. “No no, I’ll help!” I blurt with weighted breath as it starts to sliver out of the entrance.

It looks at me. Their face is drooping so much it looks like it’s melting. Abandoned. They look abandoned. That’s all I can think.

“Help me later,” they bluntly reply before slipping out again.

I want to help.

Doisette is cradling himself and facing the wall. He hasn’t said a word since I’ve came here. He didn’t bring anything with him.

The Doise approaches Doisette to embrace him, caressing his soaked back softly. I’m sitting at an odd angle; I don’t know what’s specifically happening. Looks like Doise is stammering, trying to find something to say with those jerking body movements and all. Doisette suddenly enters a spell of bawling and suddenly clamps onto the Doise. She starts to shush him, as if he was some kind of crying baby startled by a nightmare. Something about Doisette’s bawling melts into a more vulnerable sound when he hears the shushing whistle through the Doise’s rotting teeth.

Doise pauses his soothing to speak. “A-at least… at least it wasn’t the apartment…”

Another fit of bawling erupts in Doisette in response.

I want to hug him too. But I’m a stranger. I’m not his lover or his friend. It feels selfish to want that, to help him. It makes no sense to feel that way, but I just feel like I can’t be a part of his world. Why should I be a part of a world from a man who can’t see the devil horns that I hide?

Day 6, late morning:

That tent wasn’t salvageable. From what we recovered from yesterday, the leftover food and drinks will only last us for around two days. Bo’s phone got damaged by the flood, though thankfully it seems reversible so far. We had to leave behind the mattresses, so we had to sleep on cold cave floor with damp pillows and blankets. Some of our clothes, mostly mine, made it out okay, so few of us were able to wear a couple extra layers to bed. Good thing I gave Doise and Doisette what I could spare; I imagine any more cold would leave them even worse for wear.

Last night was one of the worst nights of sleep I ever had. It was horrible to feel every dampened fiber, every uneven protrusion on cave floor, every sore muscle, and every minute that I was conscious for. I only slept a couple hours. I haven’t been getting the best rest this whole week. That’s the only thing that can kill me. Usually I’d be more worried about that, perhaps too worried. The idea sounds nightmarish and I can feel it stab my chest at the mere thought of it, but that’s tiring. Lingering, or really doing anything, is so exhausting right now.

Why though? I’m a demon! I know it’s somewhat facetious, but I am a being built to work! I supposed to be competent, even at my lowest. I couldn’t even assign myself the task of preparing breakfast earlier today. I’ve barely moved at all really, somehow dozed off for a little bit an hour or two ago. If I didn’t know any better, I would think I’m dying right now.

The others haven’t moved much, staying in their own personal bubbles and trying to bide their time. We’ve barely said a word to each other, and that’s saying something. If Fakey didn’t have to spend every waking hour scouting for Peddito, maybe I’d be a little less miserable. To be honest, I can’t believe Bo has been struggling to keep the mood up, too.

For fucks sake, I’m angry at them, aren’t I? I’m angry at these people with problems they cannot help. Bo’s too quiet, Doise is too fidgety, and Doisette’s is really hot-headed right now. Thank god for the bearings that are preventing me from abandoning these people in the forest. That idea feels good—and bad. What difference does it make that I don’t like having that thought?

What is wrong with me? I used to have a tolerance for these types of situations. I used to… I used to be an angel! What horizon was I looking to decades ago to help me stay with the Noise?

Why did he have to die? Why can’t he be here now? I want to see his sheepish innocence again, the part of his heart that was touched by the kindness I used to have. I want her to give me an anguish that disciplined me; it was sickening, but at least it kept me in check. Who knows what I’ll do to these people without that anchor? Will I burden them with my complaints? Will I neglect them under my superficial help? Will I succumb to my anger and assault them? Perhaps, since I’m capable of thinking the thought, will I rape them, and start a new river of blood? What will I—

The Doise speaks dryly with her head hanging low, “I’m sorry. This is all my fault.”

We all become alert.

Bo attempts to console him. “T-that’s okay, but let’s just try to get through the end of—”

“I’m cursed. I caused the storm.”

Oh no.

Doisette scrambles towards him. “Well, the plan was dependent on a storm, anyway.”

He’s not going to point out the obvious?

He continues, “Yes, you’re cursed. But I don’t think that means—”

“This curse goes deeper than you think it does,” Doise counters, bug-eyed and cryptically.

Doisette, who was pretty weak already, receives a crack in his already damaged tough facade. “W-what exactly am I missing? It only affects you, only hurts you—getting hurt can only be so deep…”

“Why was I so obsessed with the Noise, anyway? For the longest time, she was the only thing that meant anything in my life; I loved her! I followed him, defended him, watched him, needed him, and isolated for him. My doom was sealed once I watched my first video from her. I’m doomed! Cursed!”

I try to step in. “Hey, that isn’t your fault. You were just a kid, weren’t you? You didn’t know any better…”

“But he was my everything, my blood and flesh!” The Doise protests. “And now h-he’s carved into it, c-carved without any stitches or knife.” The Doise suddenly swoops towards me, grasping my shoulders, “he’s in my blood.” She starts to pant, her eyes twitching and her body begging to release its tension. “A-a-a-and… y-you know what… blood means…”

Why am I scared? I’m more likely to hurt her than her hurting me. Hurt her. No! I wanna leave. Let me leave, please!

We get lost in one another’s faces, our eyes absorbing the contours of our heads, that universal symbol branded into our nerves, our skin, our blood, our souls.

“And things got worse after he passed,” he explains under clenched teeth, his voice raised in a hoarse pitch. She breaks eye contact with me to throw her head downwards in anguish. “I need to state the obvious. I’m him!”

I look at Bo. They look like him, and they’re trying to hide it.

Doisette rushes over in terror to pry the Doise off of me. “No no no, you’re you, you’re you! You’re the Doise—you’re Daniel!”

“I’m him,” the Doise whines, fighting against Doisette’s efforts. Doisette tugs a little harder and the Doise starts shouting and thrashing wildly, “I’M HIM! I’M HIM, I’M HIM, I’M HIM!!”

And I am him. I am him. I am him.

I’m him.

Get him out. Get it out. Get it out. Get it out.

As Doisette is busy restraining the Doise, I rush towards the cave wall on all fours and halting as I grab onto a sizeable stalagmite, my face just an inch away from its peak. I can’t be a coward now. I need to get this demon out of, this demon that is myself! A demon that continues cycles, a demon that enables violence, a demon—WHAT ARE YOU DOING!? JUST DO IT!

I sharply raise my head upwards, and slam it downwards, aiming for the stalagmite, the shared moans of anguish from the couple ringing through the cave—

“NOISETTE!”

A tiny hand pulls at my collar.

“Please! Let me die!” I beg impulsively.

“IT’S MY FAULT!” Bo shrieks. “Please, forgive me, it’s my fault!”

Just do it.

I swing my head upwards and impale it into my—

Everything goes dark.

Day 7, night:

I wasn’t knocked out for long yesterday. They helped me wake up, all with a concerned look on their face from what I did. They didn’t say a word, though they seemed to hate that decision. Bo’s lip quivered the most, as if refusing to talk was unnatural to him. He didn’t help me, just watched. Bo usually helps me.

I don’t think anyone ever said a word since yesterday and today. Not even Bo.

I mean, do I really deserve it? Do I deserve to ask? If anything, I’m technically the least deserving out of all of us to ask. I was the one doing most of the cooking, anyway. They’re tired, more tired than me. More miserable. It’s right to help them, but something’s gone now. I’m tired. Really tired.

And I’m a demon.

I can’t fall asleep. Everyone else is asleep. And I can’t sleep. I don’t know why. I had a worse day yesterday and I still fell asleep. It’s around midnight and it feels like I haven’t dozed off a bit.

They’re just bodies to me, just people. Strangers. It’s nice to talk to strangers, but the energy it takes to commit to that is demanding. What burden would I have to learn of, to give some kind of half-baked supportive hand for? They need so much more than I could offer them.

I just want to abandon them, don’t I? Even Bo. I want Bo to leave, too. Or maybe I want them to die.

I don’t want them to die. It’s not right… but at least it would be over.

Just leave. Leave for a little bit. Come back in the morning, bring some more supplies over. It wouldn’t be bad if I brought something back. Yeah, yeah. It’s okay; I’ll just be gone for a little bit. It won’t be bad.

I get up, crouching slightly to fit within the cave. It’s hard to get a running start in this tight cave. I lower down some more and expand my wings before exiting the cave fine enough.

The sheer coldness of the rain shocks me for a moment, but I’m able to snap out of it before I reach the ground. I flap aggressively to climb higher in the sky, fighting against the barrage the storm was ceaselessly releasing. I shoot straight up and stop at a small distance above the trees, pausing to get my bearings.

God it’s cold. My muscles state otherwise, but I feel miserable. Everything works, but it’s so uncomfortable. I have to keep going. I’ll live.

I glide across the trees, slightly narrowing the distance I was in between them earlier. The wind wrestles with me, trying to shove me into some unrelated direction. It’s fine, I’ll live. It’s a nightmare out here, but those words don’t really mean anything. The noise is drowning out any desire to wallow. My body is preoccupied with so many things right now I just can’t make myself spiral, even if I really want to.

I hear something, sounds like an animal. I’m not sure though. Hard to hear anything besides what the storm wants me to hear.

“Noisette…” A deep, faint holler cries out, muffled by the wind.

Keep going.

“Noisetteeee!” It’s clearer now, more drawn out.

Something leaps onto a nearby tree, a hulking figure that is light enough not to tip over but strong enough to hold the tree in place.

“LEPORIDAE!”

Fakey. It’s Fakey.

I stop in place, getting flung by the wind into a tree a couple spots away from Fakey. I weakly cling to the tree, overwhelmed by the sharp pain from clashing into the forest. Fakey’s eyes glimmer as it looks at me, and it pounces swiftly to the tree closest to me.

“Leporidae…” it howls, sounding tired from shouting against the wind.

I can’t make myself answer them.

It extends an arm and clasps mine, reeling me close to its chest. I cling onto them in return out of fear of falling. Fakey’s drenched by the rain, yet seems to be doing fine—physically, at least. They look around, trying to balance getting a good survey of the land while also using their head to protect me from the rain.

“Let’s refuge at a quieter solace,” Fakey suggests before letting go of me. I use its torso as a platform to cautiously hop back into the air and enter flight once more. I straggle behind Fakey because of the wind, but I’m still able to keep in decent distance. They traverse the treetops like an ape swinging between vines. There’s something a bit graceful about it, honestly. They just have a pleasant quality in general; I know that, and I’ve known that for years. I’m too short to reach its shoulder, but they were always a consoling arm to cry on. Will I cry to them once again? It would feel good. But is it really the time? It’s not even like I want to. I just want to leave.

We fly back to the previous cave we resided in, damp, but certainly not as flooded as it used to be. The ruins of our old campsite are still there. Once my eye catches a single glimpse of the wreckage, my head snaps away in disgust. We stand close to the entrance.

“What prompt made you pursue into darkness?” Fakey asks sadly and tilting its head.

I can’t say.

I can lie… a little. But if I lie a little too much it’ll be too much to bear.

Tears bubble in my eyes, a splash of warmness on my freezing body. Oh, Fakey…

It rears its head. “Did… did you miss… me?”

They usually don’t speak this plainly. So much kindness in that voice… and they have to care for me.

I really can’t take it.

“I… I w-was going out… for extra supplies,” I choke. “I-I was planning to be back by morning, I promise…”

Fakey doesn’t seem interested in my lie—I was on the fence about that idea, so I can’t really say. “It’s of a terrible turbulence out here…from w-w-what I have analyzed in my h-head, you aren’t a type to do such a thing—unless p-provoked.”

What was it worth to even try? Look at what I’ve done: Developed a bond with this being so intricate that it wants to cradle me: the broken reflection of a dead woman, keeping that nightmare alive until I am deprived of sleep. And I still want to talk, and I still don’t want to. I’d rather dig my own grave than open my arms and feel the fullness of my heart.

“I am aimless in regards of solutions for the p-present… m-may I make a confession?”

I nod and sniffle.

Its face slightly sinks into itself. “Scouting is d-dreaful. The dampness matters nothing—I j-just,” it stutters from the labor of speaking, “I just… cannot stand very much being a unit of one. The situation asks me to be worth more than one, but I simply cannot change my programming. The one that I i-invest in could qualify as satisfactory work, b-but it does not make me happy. Love is no guard dog…” Their eyelids start to droop quickly, almost as if they were melting. Its body tenses up and it mimics the sound of a whimper to compensate for being incapable to cry.

How horrible it must be to not even be able to cry. And I’m crying. I hate seeing it so lonely. The moment leaves me lost as I try to wipe away my tears. A cluster of tears gather on my finger, only distinguishable from the rain by their heat.

Let me do one nice thing.

I carefully extend my arm and inch towards Fakey, who is lowering its head to get closer to me. Its eyes are transfixed on my dampened finger, knowing what I plan to do with it. My free hand slowly and shakily approaches Fakey’s jaw to grasp onto it. Once I get a hold on them, I let my finger reach towards their deeply sunken eyes. Though wide-opened, they are slightly calm as they submit to my gesture, sighing solemnly as my finger closes in on its destination. The tears, now lukewarm, start to couple up at the underside of my finger, growing in size as it anticipates making the plunge into Fakey’s sockets. Fakey sniffles as the droplet is almost ready to leap. Their eyes become active. The drop finally—

Fakey shoots upward, its face cold and focused. I can just barely hear it whiffing the air.

“He’s here.” Fakey declares bluntly.