Re: quicklog: luke/wren, silent hill.
[When Luke whirled around with the gun, Wren looked confused. So, so, so confused, and that was when she realized it.
He was sick.
When had he gotten sick?
Now Gus was out there all alone, and it was because Luke was sick.
The closet door closed, and Luke tugged her close, and her burnt-blood hand slipped along Luke's forehead, feeling for fever. She didn't let go of Lia, though. Non, non, non, and she'd already lost Gus twice. Mamans didn't do that. Her maman had never remembered where she was, but she'd never lost her, not like that, not like this. But Luke was sick, and she was a bad maman, and he came first. He was sick.
She looked down in the dark of the closet, quiet as he held her close and folded them up like blankets in the corner. She felt around his chest, his shirt, his pockets. She smelled of blood, of the decaying thing in her arms, but she didn't see it at all. She just touched, looking for the gun.
If he was sick, he shouldn't have the gun. Touch, touch, touch, in search of metal. But she was quiet; she did what he said. She didn't move, not even when the chair pinioning the door shattered, the shadows of shards slipping across the bottom of the closet's door jamb. Shhhhhhh, quiet, and she knew the pyramid cop was out there, in the room. Looking.
She just kept touching for the gun. Tiny, tiny, tiny touches and no sound, non. Shhhhhh, and her head on Luke's shoulder.]