Chapter Text
Tick Tock.
He sat there, arms twitching, legs crossed, all while he sat there on that wooden stool. In front of him was a man, a smiling man, an old man? The old guy had a beard and a cheerful smile, seemed like the type to rattle off stories and wars that were only seen and remembered in his eyes. But he couldn't care less about that smile, nor that man, nor that face, nor his eyes, for this individual's eyes were drawn to the drink in front of him, the one that swirled around and around, orange it was, a dark orange, contained inside what was a clean white glass, a shot glass, given to him by the bar.
He could hear the cheers of those around him, the laughs the smiles, the joyful ambiance that filled the room, and as the songs played on that old busted radio, as the bearded man laughed in front of him with a voice almost akin to that of a youthful soldier, there was only one thought that resided in his mind, a thought that he pushed back, and refused to think of, because of thinking of it, made it real, made that decision real, made that choice real, and that simple thought was this…
What do I do now?
" ~Well as the entertainment world gets ready for the Oscars, it seems that some of last year's lows are starting to get some notice as well, considering how just recently it appears that- "
The TV had lines, many lines actually, he didn't really pay much mind to it at first, but at some point it was just clear that there were lines, many lines, so many lines, the TV was set above him, in the corner of the isolated room, hanging plastered there like it belonged, belonged with the white walls and brown chairs, chairs that were taken by those whose minds were corrupted, shattered their minds were, and now they wanted help, they looked like they begged for it.
He looked away, and began looking towards the clock hanging above, just slightly above the checkout, slightly above the old woman who had entered, her hair puffy and brown, her eyes sharing that similar color, just as her skin did. She had some wrinkles on her face, many under her eyes, and yet there was a look of peace that seemed to wash over her. He could feel her eyes trailing over everyone, every shudder, every twitch, she seemed to know it all, and then she spoke, in a calm and gentle voice.
“James? Mr. James Becket?”
He rose his hand, and he could hear a small, ah, escape her as she quietly said, follow me, and so he did, and as he trailed behind her, he couldn’t help but be curious of the patients around him, of the wall art beside him, there were many drawings on the walls, shows and movies of characters he hadn’t bothered to see before alongside bright colors of green and yellow, flowers and grass, sunlight and trees. The colors clashed with the cold freezing temperature of the room, considering how with every second that passed, he couldn’t help but feel a gust of wind blow against his body and face.
It seemed she could tell his attention was wavering and his mind was wandering, since almost immediately she clicked her pen on that clipboard that she had been keeping just under her armpit until now, she sat down on a gray chair, and it was only then that he realized that he wasn't in the hallway anymore, he was in a room, a boxed closed off room, with the only source of the outside being the white light practically bleeding through the large window beside them, however the window didn’t offer the heat he wanted, it was still cold, even with it open.
Taking a deep breath, she slowly began to speak up, her voice sounding quiet compared to all the noise in his mind, but still loud enough for him to hear her, there was this comfort that washed over him as she spoke her words, one that he wasn't sure if it was new or old, in any case, she started the conversation first.
“Hello James, so I’ve been told that you’ve been having…difficulties at work? And I know you feel about the sessions, but believe me when I say that I do want to help, but I can only do so much if this keeps happening, so please, what happened today?"
He could feel his hands shifting around one another, as his body started leaning down alongside his head, he didn’t bow, but he found himself staring at the tile floor under him, while a deep breath slowly came to him, before sighing, with his eyes closed and his mouth open, he began to speak, his voice cold and distant, yet, there were traces of something else there, something he didn’t want to think of.
“I'm sorry, it was an accident.”
“Believe me I know, and I don’t want you to force my hand but, I need you to tell me what happened, they want an answer Becket, they do, and you can’t just apologize to them, they want something, please, why did you do that?”
He could feel a chuckle drag itself through his neck, one that he forced himself to shove down, keep buried, but that didn’t stop a small smile from appearing on his face for just a moment, just a second, she didn’t see it, he knows she didn't, but now he worries if someone else did, someone he feared, someone who…he brushed the thought away, and spoke up.
“...He asked me what happened, I told him I didn’t know, he asked me what I did now, I told him nothing, and…and he kept asking, again and again, he knows that I don’t know what happened, he knows everyone doesn’t know what happened, and I just…I got…I was mad, and when he grabbed my hand I…”
“I stabbed him with my pen.”
The scream, it was the scream that he remembered, the scream that he pondered about in that moment, it sounded so, no, no it wasn't, he wasn't, he shouldn't think of that now, he didn't need to, not anymore more, this thought will pass, like it always has, he just needed to keep calm, he just needed to stay calm, he just needed. He raised his head, and there wasn’t a hint of emotion on that face of his.
“I didn’t mean to, I promise you I didn’t.”
There was a silence after he spoke, though he could tell she had written something down as he spoke, in any case, it seemed she wasn’t going to let him see that, calmly placing the clipboard to the side, before clutching both her hands together, and lowering them under her chest, he could hear as she breathed in the air of the silent hospital, before letting go back where it belonged.
“Mr. Becket, I know you didn’t, we all know you didn’t, and he knows you didn’t. But you and I, we both know that they won't, you doing this at work already isn't a good look for you or the hospital, but doing it because of that subject being brought up. Everyone who's heard about it has had ten years to come up with their own ideas of what happened, and with you being the one employee who can actually be here right now. Already isn't good, people want to know, they want answers, and until some miracle happens, you'll be the face of it all, the one who-"
“Can we stop talking about this right now…I’m sorry I just-”
“Oh…yes, I’m sorry, I was being intrusive, but please James, you have to understand that we can’t just keep avoiding this, last month it was because of a painting, last year it was because of someone's face, and only two weeks ago it was because of some plush, every time you see something that even resembles something from that place, you just…Listen, I want to help you, but you need to want to be helped, we can’t just keep putting this off like-”
He stood up, barely letting her finish those words, he wasn’t mad, he knew he wasn’t, his hands weren’t twitching, his mind wasn’t racing, instead it was actually calming, he felt calm, hearing that wake up call of hers must’ve done it, he didn’t smile though, he wanted to, but he couldn’t instead, he gave her the best news she and this whole building could’ve received.
“I’ll quit. I’ll hand over my resignation as soon as I can, have a good day-”
“Wait-no- James”
He already walked out the door, closing it the minute- why did he do that, she wouldn’t have walked after him, no she wouldn’t have, there’d be no point to it, not a point at all, his steps were quick, his steps were calm, and yet, he hadn’t felt his heart race in oh so long, it didn’t matter, this place didn’t matter, none of it did, he could get another job somewhere else, a new town maybe?
His eyes once again trailed over the drawings of shows and movies he had never seen, he didn’t deserve to see them, he didn’t need to see them, they didn’t matter, none of them mattered, no they didn’t. And before he knew it, he found himself back in that room, a room with white walls, static TV, and fidgeting people, those who sought help, and those who begged for it. He only stared for a moment before walking towards the exit-
“ ~And just now in the town of Romant Gignère , a recent reminder of a tragedy has appeared as sixty-eight year old Richard Smith was recently assaulted by thirty-seven year old James Becket, as according to the Romant county sheriff’s department, Richard Smith had been stabbed directly through the cheek due to James Becket, however it is confirmed that thankfully the damage had not been severe enough to hold any long lasting impacts, and while no statement nor information from James Becket has come out yet, Richard has been fully willing to share his side of the story, John back to you. “
He watched as the footage switched to a man in a blue collar suit, with his hair slick back, there was stern face of judgement that was evident on his face, looking as though he had all the pieces and chips in his palm, appearing as though he knew every little thing about the one with the pen, the one who acted like a maniac.
“ ~Thank you Thomas, and now, we cut over to Richard, who as stated before, has his own side of the story to tell, and It hurts me to say this but, sadly it is connected to The Playtime Corporation and its mass disappearance of all members who had worked and were part of the staff that made up the company, all of them vanishing without a trace with the sole exception of one, that being the man responsible for the injuries this man has been forced to bear, Richard. ”
The camera cut once more to a man standing in front of some wooden home, one that must’ve been built by a grandfather of a grandfather it seemed, the place looking as though it had barely been keeping itself together, appearing as though it hadn’t been fixed nor adjusted in the slightest since its creation.
“ ~Thank you and, please, I understand why he did it, I was just, I wasn't doing okay at the time and I just. Look, it’s been ten years, and there’s been nothing, not a damn thing, not a clue, not a hint, hell, there hasn’t even been a theory as to what could’ve even happened, and the only person who could possibly know, says nothing, he says he doesn’t know all the time. But there has to be something there, something in his brain just that knows something, it’s been years, and I’m tired, all of us tired. “
He didn’t watch as she walked in, he didn’t pay her in mind, his attention drawn to the person speaking beyond the static lines.
“ ~My son was twenty years old, when I last saw him, his name was Mark Smith, and he worked at that company. He was happy there, constantly sending me letters and just…I know my son, I know him, he would’ve never just left without a word, and I know all of us feel the same…We’re all tired, and I’m sick of us getting nowhere with this, no one's investigating that building, no one's investigating that man, and I’m tired of it, why should the authorities investigate that building once, ONLY ONCE, before stopping because of some damn legal dispute, because of a lack of evidence, a lack of resources, I’m tired, I’m sick of it, and we all are, he knows something, he has to, and I’m tired of him pretending that he doesn’t…I’m tired of it, and I know he is as well. “
“Becket-”
He walked away, not bothering to hear what else she had to say, what else her eyes had to say, he'd seen before, he'll see it again, and he'll deal with it as he always had, walking of the room, entering the stretching halls, before entering the silver elevator, and leaving the building. Walking and walking he continued to go, his eyes stuck to the concrete ground below him as he walked across the sidewalk, he didn't know where he was going, nor did he care, it didn't matter, he just wanted some place clean, a place without filth, without dirt. A place where the wind could just block out all the noise, a place where he could only feel nothing but soft and thin strains of grass touching against his fingers.
But instead of the soft and thin strains of grass he hoped for, he instead was met with the rubber and plastic round texture of the steering wheel in front of him, as he slowly turned and turned, and drove straight on ahead, turning and moving in a car that had seen a great many years as of now, it was a stylish car, one coated in a white pale yellow and one that contained marks and dents that spread and curved all around it, and despite that, he never once got it checked, for it worked all the same
He had long since gotten used to the roads and signs in this rather small yet large town, one that seemed almost separated from the rest world, as though it were in its own plane of existence, sure people came every now and then, but for many, if you were born here, you’d die here, that was always the case, and seeing how the past seven years have gone by with him staying here, without a single thought of leaving,, it made sense, it only made sense.
He took note of the distant sun, the one that still resided in the sky, yet not fully, no, it was setting, the day almost over, and he hadn’t even noticed, it had been a long day though, a lot of questions, a lot of discussion, so much noise, too much noise. At least now there’d be silence, silence that was only interrupted by the sounds of wind passing on by through the open windows, those windows being open for the sole purpose of getting smoke out, smoke that’d come from the cigar that he was quick to pull out and light, before exhaling with smoke leaving his cold lips, ones that had long since lost the feeling of taste.
He burnt out the smoke on the ashtray, as his eyes drifted towards one of the many buildings ahead, one that stood in between the stretching grass and the fading sky, it was a massive and grand cathedral, one that had been built long before he had been on this earth, it was not ancient by any means, not a monument or a historical landmark, but it still housed a graveyard, one that required entry inside to visit, and visit he did, as he left his car behind, and found himself slowly entering through the old creaking wooden doors of that church.
He wondered if she would’ve gone to church, did she? Did it matter? No. No it didn’t.
And as he walked inside, he quickly heard the voice of many with many years behind him, standing on stage, wearing some black suit and red on white tie, he stood there, a gentle smile on his lips as he walked around as though debating something in his mind, that debate was not in his mind, it was in the open, speaking and addressing to all those who sat on the wooden pews that curved and bended all to face the center stage.
"In all labour there is profit, but the talk of the lips tendeth only to the penury. That is a quote from proverbs fourteen, twenty three, and what this means is that mere talking and empty promises can only ever lead us to poverty, however, through hard work, and action, that is where success and gain can come from. If we were to only talk and talk and talk, it'd mean nothing, but only by showing our actions, showing our will, then we can hope to gain, then we can hope to succeed. If you only speak of change and do not commit to it, then you shouldn't have spoken at all. For words lack to depth of action-"
Becket sat down, he could feel the plastic elastic material from his gloves leaking and stretching against the wooden oak as he sat down on the pew, he could feel the stares of those around him, just looking at him with confusion and partial disdain, eyes and eyes watching, watching and watching, he sat slumped over, his eyes not leaving the old man as each second passed, this place had no filth, but it was far too loud for him to enjoy the peace of the time.
“And that, whether it be physical, mental, or perhaps even spiritual, we should always strive to mean and show and act on these promises in our mind, constantly talking and boasting of change will only ever show the lack of action and the lack of results, I hope all of you take that to heart, now-"
Becket snapped his eyes away from the man and looked towards the ceiling, his eyes began to waver and his vision blurred as the seconds passed, by no means was he tired, he simply wished for time to move faster, simply wished to awake with silence, and as his breathing calmed, and his movements wavered and dimmed, the last thing he saw, was that there were no eyes truly staring at him. And once he saw that, darkness took him whole, everlasting and eclipsing, darkness took him whole, and part of him, wished it would take him home. Back to that home, back to where the bell always tolled, always ringing, always awaiting, a bell that swung back and forth.
A bell that felt as though it only awaited him, and only him…
“And that is all, thank you all for coming and please return home safely and remember to read the word of god at first light.”
He could hear the sounds of steps passing and passing by, walking and muttering, discussion and conversations between devoted parents and bored children, with some of those children being intrigued or simply too young to find interest in a two hour long service, he couldn’t say he didn’t understand it, he did, but that didn’t matter now, it wouldn’t matter then in that wooden house, and it wouldn’t matter now, inside these concrete walls and golden rimmed doors. Calmly he stood up, walking in between the pews as he made his way to the corner of the building, there were many glass windows, many pieces of art depicted on those windows, showings figures and symbols he’s seen many times before, in both the first and second floor of this building, with the second having an organ player with golden tubes stretching far into the sky, while children marker-stained across its wooden sides.
“I can see you just got off of work hm, everything doing alright?”
Becket just turned towards him, the man from before, one with warm eyes and calm smile, white hairs piling up on his chin, just as they did to his hair before he decided it best to shave it all off, Becket wondered if the man was afraid of age, probably not, probably, in any case Becket shrugged, giving a light nod to confirm that pastors suspicions.
"Well I suppose you wouldn't want me taking up your time, and I don't want to leave you waiting too long considering you got your life and I've got mine, so I'ma leave you be, but if you can. Why don't you swing by the meeting, they'd like to have you there, it has been a while after all."
Becket just shrugged, hardly facing the man as he continued walking past him, not bothering to listen to the words that the old man had to say, slowly he walked into a quiet and tight corridor, one surrounded by grey bricks stacked against one another, all until he entered the open grass fields of cut grass, with dozens of stones holding names buried into the ground. Some of the graves had their stones standing up, while others were sunk into the dirt, names upon names of people whose legacy existed no longer and so he simply walked on past them, hardly paying those names a second glance.
And soon he found himself standing before a long grave, one that had clearly seen both age and time as it sat there, stuck into the earth, with a lone name residing upon it, he paid no attention to the date residing under the name, and only focused his attention to the name itself.
“ Lorean Casper Becket. “
He simply stared at that name, time passing him by before calmly taking note of the flowers that had already been planted there, it seemed once again his attention was not needed for this grave, certainly not, he didn’t say anything, nor did he mutter anything, he simply rose his gloved hands, gently resting them across the tombstone for just a moment, before letting go, and leaving the premises, he didn’t think about his time in the building, didn’t think of when he got into his car and drove off, and didn’t think when he left that same car, and continued walking across the winding streets of this town.
He wanted a place without the reminder of that building, of that factory, living in that past would only hold him back, it would do nothing to benefit him, so there was no point in dwelling on it, a part of him wished they’d move on, accept the disappearances for what they were, but he knew they wouldn’t, no they wouldn’t, they’d continue to hope and pray for some miracle that their loved one is alive…Why couldn’t they just move on.
He could feel the eyes of many begin to fall onto him, the eyes of those passing by, the eyes of children and adults, they all watched him as he walked, they didn't say anything, didn't hold any expression of disgust. They just stared, like he was an alien in the town. He knew they didn't hate him, they all held him high actually, many of them believing him to be nothing more than a victim of circumstance, a survivor by chance is what they called him.
He didn’t like that name, no he didn’t, but he knew the name meant well, but, he also knew that it was a name that had nothing to do with him, a name that couldn’t be more wrong, but these thoughts were never voiced, none of these thoughts were. Speaking would require an unbalanced mind, a focused mind needed to be silent. And it was the silence in his mouth that allowed him to find it, a place without filth.
It was a diner, and an old one at that, one that clearly hadn’t changed in the slightest despite the decades that had seemed to wash over it, the colors that he assumed were once bright and colorful, plastered against the roof and walls, were now all but faded and dull, peeling off just enough to show the white base under all that shine, the windows weren't any different, they were blurry, no longer as visible as the summer sky, they were foggy, and stained, being a perfect reflection of the whole place, it was a relic of the past truly, appearing and surviving only to exist as a reminder of a past that no longer exists.
There was a part of him that wondered what it was like back then, back when it was fully operational, back when the colors shined, what would the children back then think of it now, would they think it beautiful, or would they think of it as nothing more than a disgust and stain on their childhood memories, growing older and older, despising it more and more.
He stared at the building for a moment longer, his eyes tracing over every detail, the birds residing above it, the heavy wind blowing against it, and the setting sun slowly aligning itself perfectly, his attention snapped away from the detail, and instead his legs began to walk towards that building. And standing before the entrance, he began to raise his hand, bringing it closer to the cold iron handle that resided on the two doors, before gripping it and pulling it back, opening it wide which only made the smell of cheap food and grease fill his senses, the sweet smell of butter and the smell boiling steak quickly filled his sense as he wandered past customers who spoke, families who laughed, and employees who smiled all in an effort to get paid.
He walked passed them all, his eyes not daring to meet theirs, he felt strange, he felt as though he didn't belong, and he knew that to be true, but didn't have the mind to dwell on it, not that he would've dwelled on it if he did have the mind, because it's much easier to escape all of it, and walk into the bathroom, and walk into the bathroom he did, a closed space box it was, with a large round mirror that was the only thing that mattered to him. His hands slowly began reaching before gripping the edge of the sink, he stared at his face, he could feel his body twitching with each passing second.
He still wore that surgical uniform, a long white gown that covered his shaking body, with light blue surgical gloves that hid his bloody hands. He stared at himself, staring for a long time, and before he knew it, he found himself staring at his wrist, a wrist covered by the long gown. Slowly he raised his hands upward, pulling back his sleeves until he saw it, on his wrist.
Resided a cracked watch, one with blue and red colors, and in the center of that, was a drawing of a doll, a porcelain one, with red curly hair, and an upturned smile, the transparent cover of the watch was what had been the only sign of damage, he’d dropped it a few years back, hated himself for months after that. Because even if the watch hadn’t worked when he was given it, that didn’t change the meaning of it, the meaning that he tried but couldn’t forget.
“...”
He didn’t want to say it, so he didn’t. Instead he opted to just stare at himself, he could see the bags filling up in his eyes, his hair becoming less combed and more scruffled as white hairs began to touch upon the edges of it. Slowly removing his gloves and shoving them deep into his pockets, he quickly began to wash his hands, hands that contained not the slightest hint of filth, yet still had filth nevertheless. Cold it was, freezing it was, and yet he didn’t pull back, only embraced it, holding it dear to him, keeping the feeling dear to him, before stopping the water, and leaving the bathroom.
And not even two seconds after he left, did someone ask to speak with him, they didn't appear to be someone from the authorities, they wore a simple blue puffed up jacket, with a white t-shirt underneath and sagging pants. They gave him this kind of funny look, a small smile twinging at the lips, whether that smile was from actual joy of speaking or the fear of it, he couldn't tell, in any case the guy sat down, and so did he, and for a moment there was nothing but breathing and silence.
They looked out of breath almost, their face red, constantly breathing in and out, it looked as though they had just gotten off from an hour long job, they might've honestly, but he didn't think about that now, for the man began to speak, talking with a voice that could only be one from a man down in the south.
"Are you doing alright Becket? Look I know it ain't in my place to say but, all of us are worried about you, I mean. Nothing, for two weeks nothing, and then suddenly you show up, beat a guy and quit? I mean, for goodness sake we sent letters and everything, so, is something wrong friend? Cause from the looks of it something clearly is."
Oh…right…him…Becket just shrugged, his eyes drifting off to the side, as the worker awaited an answer, there wasn’t a reason for why he left, at least he told himself that, it was just simply a choice he made, a choice that was now being confronted by someone who shouldn't even care. "It was for the best, it needed to be done, the hospital keeping me around would've damaged it, those who supported me would've been tarnished, I made the best possible decision, it's not like I can't find a job elsewhere, and I'm fine, thank you for asking."
He didn’t look at the man the entire time he spoke, instead choosing to look down at the light brown table below him, one that held spiral marks deep inside the wood, he wondered how they got in there, if it was natural or not-
"Look I get that, I do, and I ain't gonna pretend this is the first time something like this has happened, but I have to ask, are you actually seeking help for this. Because from everything I've seen, heard, and dealt with, I really doubt it, I really do."
James Becket raised an eyebrow at that.
“Really?”
The man sighed, sweat dropping down his face more and more, and though it was sweat from the walk here, he knew that it wasn't just that, no, he knew now that it was because the man was nervous, he's been nervous this whole time, what was he doing, what was he actually trying to-
"Look, I spoke around, I made some calls to some families, some answered, some didn't, I didn't tell em I was friends with you, but I doubt it'd mattered if I did, most of em have never heard of you, made sense, one employee out of a dozen, why would one matter."
Becket felt his hands twitch.
“But there were three families who answered, there wasn't much they could say, they never met you, and there wasn't much talked about, but I got the picture, you haven't changed that much since then I think. But aside from you and your dour mood since birth, you wanna know what really shocked me? It was what family had the most to say about you, now it wasn't much, but it was enough.”
Becket felt his hands shaking.
“Becket. Were you friends with Gracie Green-”
Becket-
-Stood up.
“ I didn’t know her.”
He slammed some cash on the table before walking off, if it wasn't enough then the other man could pay, it didn't matter, he needed to leave he needed to get away, he could hear the bell toll once more as he left the diner, he covered his ears, he needed to leave he needed-
“DAMN IT BECKET.”
He froze as a hand latched onto his wrist, keeping him in place, He didn't move, couldn't move, if he did, he didn't know what he'd do, but what he could do didn't matter to the sweating man with ragged breath, his eyes narrow as a loud groan escaped him, and while Becket didn't know what face he was making at the moment, it was clear that it shocked the man, who simply let out a scoff, and let go. Which only made Becket walk off once more, and yet the southern man didn’t stop.
"Look, It ain't been that long.”
He kept walking.
“We can still return back to the office, apologize alright.”
He kept walking
“You haven't returned those papers yet right?"
Becket didn’t respond, still walking forward, his shoes stomping against the bright green grass as the sun lowered further and further down. Why couldn’t he just let it go, why did he care, he wasn’t there, he was never there he was just some-
“ DAMN IT JUST TELL ME- ”
“TELL YOU WHAT LAWRENCE!?”
Becket screamed out, snapping towards him as he did, his voice wasn't that of anger, no more so frustration and exhaustion, the bags on his eyes have never been so clear, the slight twitches in his movements, and of course the twitching that became apparent in his fingers, he was tired he was so tired-
"And what if I did!? Huh?! You think if I go back, everything will go back to how it was, that it'll all be like before, because no Lawrence NO!!! NOTHING! Will EVER be like how it was. You don't know me, you know James, not Becket, you see me as a man who is always watched, always watched by eyes and eyes upon eyes, always never ending- never stopping their judgement."
“I haven’t been normal in a decade, I haven’t felt normal in ten years, and I haven’t belonged ever since that day, for ten years I’ve felt, I…I don’t belong here, I haven’t belonged anywhere, I’m not like you, I’m not like anyone, there is nothing for me here, nothing at all, do you know what it’s like, finding a place that truly understood you, only to watch it burn to the ground BECAUSE OF-”
He stopped, his mouth lost its voice, and so to did his thoughts, he almost said it, he needed to stay silent he needed to leave right now, he had to leave right now. Why couldn't anyone just leave this alone, it's gone, it's gone and it's over, there is no point in beating a dead horse.
“...You know, there was one thing I was always asked a few years after it all happened, It’s always said in a different way each time but it all means the same thing anyway, how does it feel to be the last employee for a dead company, and I’ll tell you, I’ll tell you the same thing I’ve told myself ever since that day, the same answer that appears in my mind every single time I think or hear of that.”
Lawrence froze.
“I wish I was there, I wish I had joined them.”
Lawrence didn’t follow him after that, and Becket didn’t stop walking.
He stood still, walking further and further away from the building, all until it faded away in the cold wind, his ears stayed listening to the cars passing him by, and quickly, he realized something, it was a thought, a thought that he had hoped wouldn’t show itself in the forefront of his mind.
…What now?
He supposed he could go home, return back to the cramped house that barely housed space, with lone desolate walls that hadn't been painted on in years, and fully cooked meals that'd fill him up without any issue in the slightest. Or he could pick the second option, that being to just leave, walk away from this town, and keep walking, moving his legs one after another until this town became nothing more than a fraction of a dot in his eyes.
The second sounded nice, and yet he picked the first.
The sound of the wood creaking back and forth was the first thing he heard as he entered his home, the wooden planks below him creaking under his weight, as he walked through the door that had long since gotten use to seeing his exhausted yet stoic face, his tried and strained movements, ones that always had a slight twitch to them, though it was a twitch just barely visible.
Slowly he dragged his body to the center of the room, that being a couch in front of a television box, he'd never bothered getting a new model, never bothered buying a new couch, never bothered fixing his house. When he moved here, he moved here, brought everything and put it here, he didn't bother buying anything new that wasn't needed, if it worked it worked, at least in his mind.
He watched as the television screen flickered again, speaks of crime, speaks of news, speaks of joy, the same things over and over again, though, it was clear because of him, they spoke of the one thing they didn’t want to speak of, because speaking of it meant it was real, meant it was true, meant it wasn’t a mystery they couldn’t solve.
“ ~And I just want to ask, how would an investigation on the premises be possible right now, after all this time has passed? “
Slowly he turned his body around, his eyes beginning to face the kitchen interior behind him, the wooden cabinets that hung on the wall, and the iron sink that held not a single speck of dust, nor a single hint of a dirty dish. He hadn't used it in a long time, there wasn’t much point to it, really there wasn’t. He turned back towards the television box, and still they were talking about it. He felt his eyes flicker.
“ ~Well, that’s a rather open-ended question Frank, If I’m being honest, it has been about ten years since someone has entered that building, and we have to keep in mind the fact that, it has been ten years without maintenance, without care, without a single hint of control. Even back then, when the investigation first started, they were only able to go down to Playcare, the uh, on-site orphanage, before returning back, and they did state that damages further ahead were so bad that traversing through that area was nearly impossible. And with an addition to ten years, it’d practically be impossible to even reach that playcare alone. It’s the reason why they have that fence up, it’s dangerous, and it's not worth the risk. We’ve already had a few who snuck past the fence back then, and well, it only proves our point…Right Becket?”
He froze.
He just stared at the television box for a moment, he could feel his hands begin to twitch, his eyes no different, and yet. He stayed calm, he took a deep breath, and switched the channel. They weren’t missing he told himself, but those words weren’t only for the few who went missing, they weren’t, he knew what happened to them, to the employees, to the children, the fact that there was nothing left to find says all that he needs to know.
“You know they aren't missing. But at the same time, do you care about that? I know you don't, we know you don't, we all do, all of us, and I'm sure she does as well, maybe in the depths of hell, or in the beauty of heaven, we know, we all know. What you are."
He looked down at the watch resting on his wrist, his fingers trailing over it as he leaned further back into his chair, his eyes distant and longing all at the same time, he didn’t cry, couldn’t, he instead just stared at it, before slowly lowering his hands to his chest, closing his eyes as he let sleep slowly wash him over, there was nothing else to do today, he can always send in the resignation later, return the uniform and such later-
“...What will you do now…How much longer will you last? When will your conscience finally get the better of you…When will your life finally be of use to us? When will you prove that your decision was the best choice…When will you make us matter- ”
His eyes and mind slowly began shutting down, as darkness enveloped his being, he could feel his sense dull, and his body become nothing but a figment of his imagination, and yet, a faint barely noticeable thought passed him by, one that he almost missed, and one that he wished he didn’t reach for.
What was the point? In any of this, there’s no reason, no purpose, nothing has really changed honestly, not really. His life in that factory, his life here, they could be one in the same, a body cut up, a body stitched together, objectives tasks, analyzing and pondering. It’s all he’s been doing, all he’s known, he’s so boring, his life is so boring, it’s a waste, he’s a waste, why did he waste this? What was the point in wasting this, why he is doing any of this why-
KNOCK
KNOCK
KNOCK
His eyes snapped open, his breathing shuddered, and in an instant he arose from his slumber, the television box now showed nothing but static, static, no longer showing that man, that calm speaking man. He quickly changed the channel without even bothering to see what he had changed it to, and soon, rather slowly, he made his way towards the front door, he’d already responded to the authorities, there was no reason for them to want more from him right?
Slowly he traced his hands over the cold chilling knob of the door, slowly turning it open, he felt his breath shudder as then slowly opened all the way, and very quickly that shuddering stopped as he realized no one was there, not a soul in sight, he looked around, nothing. Almost as though there hadn’t been a person in the first place. And for a moment he almost considered that to be true, believing that the noise was nothing more than his nightmares sounding more real again, but that wasn't the case, as his eyes trailed down towards what laid in front of the door, below him.
That being a simple envelope, a brown one just laying there, but it wasn’t the envelope that made him stumble back, it wasn’t the envelope that made him scream and fall to the ground, it was the name, the name attached. Playtime.Co…was, no, the company shut down he knew they did, a short attempt to make another facility at Tokyo but that was shut down almost immediately as well…what was this then? Slowly he rose to his feet, and found himself picking up the envelope, opening it, and seeing two items, a folded up white piece of paper, and a tape.
One that was orange and old, with a name attached to it. “VINTAGE POPPY COMMERCIAL” It was titled, he once more began looking around, searching for anyone to return this tape to, anyone who could take away from his hands, he almost left his house but didn't, instead he closed the door and locked it, his hand now gripping both the tape in one hand, and the folded paper and empty envelope in the other.
He wanted to throw it away, he’s going to, yeah, yeah he’s going to, he could take and throw it in the trash, wait till morning and just take it out with the rest of the trash, it'll be easy, it'll be so easy, so why are his hands shaking, why is he looking towards the television, why is he listening to what they're saying, he shouldn't he really didn't need to-
“ ~Another development of this reminder has come, as the family of one of the many missing employees, that being Gracie Green, an actress who had starred in many different shows and movies, and who had also happened to work for the playtime corporation before her disappearance. Her family had been largely quiet since then, however just now, they’ve recently responded to James Becket's recent fight and charge, simply stating that-SGHODUFHP “
The screen cracked and sparked open, as a clear glass cup was slammed into it, thrown into it, his breathing was sagged, his eyes widened, and he only watched as silence washed over the house at that moment, as if he’d awoke a creature from that, disturbed a slumber, one that he didn’t care for, he couldn’t care for he, no, no no, he pushed the thought back, drowned it, he needed to drown it he needed-
…He looked back at the tape, looked back at the flickering screen, then he looked down at the folded paper, one that he began to open up, he couldn’t hear his breathing, couldn’t hear his own thoughts, he just opened it, nothing more, and nothing less, and once he opened, he looked back at the shattered screen, before looking back at the paper.
“ EVERYONE THINKS THE STAFF DISSAPEARED 10 YEARS AGO. WER’E STILL HERE. FIND THE FLOWER”
He stared at the letter, and his mind looked over the incorrect spelling, and instead looked at the message before him, he didn’t know how long he looked at it for, didn’t know when the moon began to rise, and didn't know when he began to stare at himself through the reflection of broken shards residing under the TV, but he did know what he thought, he thought that he was here, and they were there.
…But they could be here, maybe, just maybe they could be here now, just maybe they could…he looked back down, the drawing of the flower. And then he looked back outside his home, and thought of the next day, and the day after the next day, and the day after and the day after, again and again, what would await him in ten more years. He didn’t know, but, for the first time in a long time, this felt as though it were a choice with good, and only good, the right choice, the righteous choice.
And before he knew it, he already found himself standing in front of that old car, scratches and stains still clear in the night, it'd seen many crashes, and seen many years, he'd never fixed nor changed it since that day, it was a part of him, and so it was him. Opening the door with his slight twitchy hands, he quickly began getting seated on brown leather seats, before tossing the envelope beside him on the passenger's end, he started the ignition, and rather quickly he began to drive off.
Leaving Romant, leaving those people, the ones who spoke with him, the ones who laughed with him, car after car and house after house he passed them all by, slowly each landmark became nothing more than blurs on his window, as the wind pressed against the steel car. And as he drove against the road, far from the town by this point, he couldn't help but wonder why, why was he doing this, why wasn't he sending this to the investigators or police, they craved an answer, and he'd recently received one…
And, he knew the reason why he didn't tell them, but it was a reason that didn't belong, that was undeserving and selfish, and so he kept silent about it. He began opening the car’s windows, the wind now starting to brush against his hair and eyes as he drove further down the path, there wasn't a house in sight, not a town either, just open fields of grass and solitude. And it stayed that way for a long time, he could see animals, cows, horses, just wandering about, their eyes uncaring and neutral to his own, at least he assumed they were, to him they were nothing more than dark figments and shapes, shadows standing, shadows watching. He looked away from them, he had about four more miles left to go, not long now.
Not long until he was near that place, near that…he was here. He knew he was the second he began to see house after house after house, dozens all lined up perfectly, a neighborhood created for a business, created for the intended purpose of allowing employees a quicker method of travel, and a place they could stay at without paying a cent. He had never visited the house given to him, it was easier to just sleep in the building itself, he always thought, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one last time he went here, one last stop, before leaving and vowing to never come back… a vow that was meaningless now.
“...”
He walked closer to the front of the house, a white door with a simple code to the side, numbers from one to nine, he stared at it, then turned around and looked behind him, there were bugs and crickets making their sounds and voices known through the night, constant clicking and chiming with every second that passed. He wondered why he was doing this, what the end of this would be, but those thoughts mattered not.
So, he pushed in the four-digit code, his hand hesitating over the handle, before practically shoving against it, holding it tight before tearing it open, and once he entered the home, it didn't take long for him to realize just how little the place had changed since he last arrived, the whole space was empty, all furniture removed, there was nothing there but a simple TV box that resided on the ceiling, connected by wires which connected to a cassette player, one that resided on the metal table. He looked towards the yellow tape that was still there in his hands.
He stared at it a moment longer, before calmly placing it inside, pressing play, and watching as the screen slowly began to flicker alive, and the second the man spoke, he immediately knew who it was, that calm way of speaking, that strange smile that somehow always found its way on his face, he'd seen it before, he'd seen it-
“ ~You are about to see the most incredible doll ever invented. Her name is Poppy, and she is the first truly intelligent doll in the world. A little girl can talk to her, Poppy gives her answers. She is the first doll actually able to have a conversation with a child. Hard to believe? Just watch. “
He’d seen that man before, in a training cassette tape when they explained where he was working, and he’d last seen him on his last day, getting fired for budget cuts. It was strange, this was an old tape clearly, the film grain and lack of color said all that needed to be said on that aspect, but…why…why was this sent to him, he didn’t even know they still had this commercial-
A porcelain doll appeared on the screen, her hair red curled, wearing a blue dress, she looked no different than the drawing on his watch, for a moment, his eyes even trailed down to that watch, this was the promotional material back before he was hired, back in the fifties, far before he was hired…
“ ~Poppy Playtime!! "
The sound of children cheering was what he heard first, before the sound and music came in next, rhythmic and calming, all while a woman began to speak up, her voice happy and joyful, she lacked a concentration and control he’d seen before in a few employees, not that the concentration was common but…still.
“ ~Poppy's as lovable as a real girl, and she talks like one, too!!”
The doll spoke up, her tone childish and clearly dubbed in, must’ve been someone’s daughter most likely.
“ ~Hi! My name is Poppy. I love you. Can you help me polish my shoes? ”
“ ~Why of course Poppy! ”
The scene cut to her shoes being just that, polished, it was so simple, the design, the toy itself, not to say it wasn’t advanced but, it was so much more simple, tame, nothing like now-no nothing like back then, back when…
“ ~Why, of course, Poppy! Just like a real girl, Poppy always wants to look her best. “
“ ~Perfect! Thank you. “
“ ~Her hair is sturdy and won't come out when you brush it, and smells just like a poppy flower! Is there anything else you'd like to say, Poppy? “
“ ~I'm a real girl... just like you. “
He stepped back.
“ ~What's the time? “
“ ~Playtime! “
The scene cut once more to a facility line of other toys, hands and parts, heads, the production process he’d use to pass by as he descended further, he stepped back once more, and then, he heard the man's voice once more, calm and collected, confident, and eager.
“ ~And if you've ever wanted to see how all of the nation's favorite toys were created, Playtime Co. is now offering factory tours at just $2.99 a person. An entire hour in the most magical toy factory on Earth. “
Why was he still here?
“ ~What are you waiting for? “
He could leave, drive back home and-
“ ~Come visit the factory? “
He saw it, the factory, that place, that long and vast- no, no no- he, they were, why-
“We can't-”
The tape was slowly overcome by static and glitches, the voice snapping away as it flickered to an image taken from what looked to be a high angle, showing iron guard rails standing above the endless void, while a red flower was plastered on the entrance of a door, massive and grand it was, and it had a design no different than that drawn on the note, and it was only then that he knew what this flower was, he'd used it before, when he...he turned back, not even bothering or attempting to take the tape out as he did, and almost immediately he began frantically searching the house.
Turning over every wooden board and wooden cabinet he searched, his mind constantly yelling and screaming at him to leave, to run, to hide, but he knew that if there was a chance, a small chance, the only chance, then maybe, just maybe it'd be worth it, maybe they could continue on, maybe- maybe it wasn't all for nothing, maybe the work wasn't pointless, maybe there was a purpose to it, a grand one, a great one, he needed- he found the silver key, one given to him whenever he’d completed his task, and the only thing left for him to do was being a tour guide, there was a job for everyone in the company, he was a doctor, a surgeon, but that didn’t stop them from making him useful every second he was there.
The key allowed him to open the door, to the front door.
But he couldn't go inside yet, no not yet, not before getting the one thing that he needed, the one thing that he knew to be part of him at this point, searching through boarded up walls and closed closets, he managed to find it, folded down, hidden inside the house walls, was a uniform, one with a golden tag hanging on it.
[ James B. ]
It was a long white hospital scrub, a gown, a coat, one that went down to his knees, one he'd worn as a surgeon for so many years, and beside that gown, was the same orange uniform that all employees had, though, it was clear that the gown was required to always be worn, and after a wash in the machine that somehow still retained power, he quickly put it on, but not before taking off the watch, and putting it back on over his sleeve.
For a moment he wondered he was doing this, but he knew why, he didn’t want to think of the why, didn’t want to realize what he was doing, why he was doing it, so he instead just left the home, went into the car, and sat there for a moment, his eyes drifting upward towards the moon above.
“...Here at Playtime Co, we create toys and joy for all those who wish to seek it…I never did that, I don’t even know how to stitch a button to a piece of cloth. Damn it, why am I doing this, I can just-”
She whispered into his ear.
“ Leave…Again…Like before, did we mean nothing to you, nothing at all? “
He stopped, and before he knew it, he began driving into the woods, deep into the woods, his car crashing through the iron fence, with the moon shining down upon him, he knew no one would be there, not now, but that didn’t change the fact that there was still so much road left to go, he kept driving forward, faster and faster, the trees beside becoming nothing but a blur as he drove away, leaving the voice in the past, in the house, in his mind, he needed to get away from it, he needed to-
His eyes widened….he was at the factory…he was…here…
He was back home…
Back where he belonged.
Back where they wanted him to be…
Back home, where he always deserved to be.
“Back where you need to be.”