no (avoidbeingseen) wrote in bloodburn, @ 2011-05-17 02:09:00 |
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Entry tags: | character: matthew selwyn, character: stephen croaker |
Who: Stephen (with guest appearances by Irene Croaker and a priest). Special thank you to Cori, who wrote Matthew's note and Father Michaels.
What: A short piece about death and dying.
When: May 14th, 1982
Where: Starting in Stephen's house in Bognor Regis, ending outside of St. Richard's in Chichester.
Rating: PG-13 for content (language, disturbing themes), major trigger warning for suicide, character death.
At some point, he was going to have to fix the curtains, or at least make them about a hundred times more opaque. There was only so many times he could wake up with the sun steaming into his face. He gave the small, kitschy alarm clock a disgruntled look and it told him that it was about two in the afternoon. With that in mind, he turned over and tried to go back to sleep. There was no sense in being up this early as far as he was concerned.
Matthew's presence in the house really hadn't changed things as much as he'd thought it would. For the first few days, he'd mostly just lay around in bed and not eaten much. Then at one point, Stephen had decided that this was concerning and had moved him out to the couch, where he'd continued to lay around and not eat much, oftentimes staring into the middle distance with a look that seemed to convey nothing and everything at the same time. If Stephen spoke to him he would converse, though he never said more than a few words.
Oftentimes Stephen had to remind himself not to be concerned. It shouldn't have mattered that he'd been friends with Matthew for as long as he had. The man had killed dozens of people, as far as he'd said, and that ought to have been enough for Stephen to stop caring about him. He had to remind himself of this whenever he looked at Matthew, whenever he thought to try...something, anything to get him back to normal. Or indeed, when he'd tried to get him back to normal – Stephen probably told Matthew more about his work in two weeks than he'd ever told anyone in his life. It might have worked for a little bit, but it never seemed to stick. He'd told himself that was just as well, that he might have acted like a normal person and not tried to cheer up a mass murderer.
But no matter what Stephen could have said, the house had seemed oppressively silent – even more than when he'd been the only one living it, somehow. He'd tried to ignore this. He was just imagining it, it would go away in time. Still, that didn't change the way he stayed awake some nights, or suddenly found himself afraid, and then going out into the living room, only to see that nothing had changed.
This was the night he'd managed to convince himself that he had nothing to worry about. Now it was the afternoon he half-planned on sleeping through. Stephen lay in bed on his back with his eyes closed, trying to go to sleep when he thought he heard water running. He convinced himself this was just his imagination and rolled over. It continued. Maybe Matthew had finally gotten it in him to take a bath? Just as well. He tried to go to sleep before deciding that he should probably go make food of some variety. He put on his dressing gown and headed out into the living room.
It took him a few seconds to realize that there was water coming out from under the bathroom door. He could feel his pulse start to race and a cold fear gripping his stomach, but no, that couldn't be. That wasn't something Matthew would do, was it? No.
When he opened the door, he stood stock still for a second, letting cold water run over his feet. Then, he calmly walked over to the tub and turned the water off. He took a few steps back before he fell to his knees and doubled over, shaking.
After a little while, he looked up again. If he'd ever had any pretense, it flew away then and he was on his knees in a flooded bathroom, staring at Matthew, who had been, whatever horrible things he might have done, Stephen's friend.
He stood up then and rubbed his eyes, then pulled his wand out and muttered, “Evanesco.” All the water disappeared, and he looked around the bathroom. Matthew had left his clothes on the counter of the sink, and on top of them there was a note. Stephen stepped over and picked up the note, his hands shaking as he opened it.
Dear Stephen,
I'm sorry it had to end this way; I really am truly, very sorry, but it has to be. I cannot live with my own sins any longer, even with you standing behind me – in spite of them, rather than because of them, no matter what you may think or feel about this matter. Know that I held you very dear as a friend – perhaps my only one, in fact, whom I have not seen die or otherwise lost because of my scurrilous associations – and that I will miss you dearly.
I mean to die, Stephen, but I do hope to have a Christian burial, in spite of this gravest of sins – one from which I cannot be absolved, I fear. It's all right, though; I know that eternal fires await me, regardless of whether a mere priest, who doesn't know the entire story – because I committed the sin of a lie by omission, as well, in my Penance to him – has absolved me of my many sins before this last and final one. Still, however, I do relish the idea of a Christian burial – if my priest will even perform the last rites over a suicide! It will at least mean I've been laid to rest properly – and not thrown into a mass grave of some sort when my comrades discover I was “abducted” by a “Muggle!”
I am sorry to do this to you, Stephen, but then again – if you hadn't “abducted” me, I could have done this at home, without upsetting you overly with this sort of... gore. I mean, at least Uncle Nicholas is inured to such sights by now, after all his time in the Healing profession.
No, Stephen; I know what you must be thinking now, upon reading that, but... Uncle Nicholas would not have been able to save me, either; I would have ensured that much!
Your dear friend,
Matthew Selwyn