When They Come: Pt. 9

>He ties your arms in front of you this time, but binds them all the way up to the elbow. The leash is also longer, but he loops it several times over the top of his hand to be sure you can't tug it away from him. He's taking no chances, you can tell. You won't be able to get much past him. As he secures you, you notice the brown stains on his hairline and side. The one on his hairline looks like it only stopped bleeding recently.
"She fucked you up pretty good didn't she?" you say, unable to hold back a grin.
>The man glares at you and pulls your bonds all the tighter. It stings, but you don't care. At least you know Twilight did some serious damage to him before.
>You hope beyond hope that Twilight has heeded your words. You hope she's nearing home now, and safety. That she'll hug spike when she sees him, tell everyone what happened,pass along word to Marigold's family. And then you hope she'll keep everyone away until all this is over. Maybe she'll even find your body in a few weeks and burry it, assuming this asshole leaves her a body to bury.
>That thought doesn't sit well, and you try to push it from your mind.
>Once he’s finished, he stands and inspects his work. With a satisfied nod, he jerks you close to him, winding the rope leach across his knuckles once more for good measure.
“Now,” he says slowly. “We’re going to start walking. We’re not going to stop until you take me to where you first got into this fucking place, is that clear?”
>You nod.
“And if you try anything weird, I’ll kill you and then your little pony friends. Clear?”
>You nod again.
>It’s true that images of a possible escapes have flashed through your mind, but he’s right that if you want this over you should just play along and get this done with. When you nod to him, you truly mean it this time.
>He smiles halfheartedly at you, still seeming satisfied with how things are going so far.
“Lets go before your little pony girlfriend gets any heroic ideas,” he mutters through clenched teeth.
>You feel your stomach twist at the mention of the word ‘girlfriend.’ You glare at him, but you’re sure he can see the surprise behind your anger. He chuckles.
“What, think I didn’t notice?” he asks mockingly. “You don’t do a very good job of cleaning up after yourself, you know. And you think I’m the sick one you animal fucker you.”
>He jerks you in front of him and gives you a shove. You stumble, surprised at how tired you are. Sure, it makes sense with all the running, the injuries, the stress. But it seems to all catch up with you right now. Maybe your body can sense that there’s not much more it can do, that there’s no desperation or drive now. Maybe it can feel that you’ve given up.
>Think now, you tell yourself. You have to get to where you woke up that first day. If Ponyville is behind you, that means it’s not far from here. You just have to remember.
>You scan the forest in front of you for something to remind you. At first, there’s nothing. Then…
>You stumbled blindly here, head bleeding, dizzy. You fell into a ditch, over a thick set of tree roots. You scrabbled in the dirt, confused as to what had happened and how you’d gotten here.
>Those tree roots maybe? That ditch? You’re not sure yet, but you’ve definitely been here before, and that’s a start.
>You crawled more often than you walked, head swimming, body mud-caked. You remember being clumsy and confused, like you were still half awake. And when you saw the buildings in front of you, they called to you and you ran as fast as your body allowed. You fell at Pinkie pies feet, not caring that this was a pink horse with a cotton candy mane. You didn't care that she talked when she noticed you, or that all the other ponies did too. You didn't care about any of that. You were just glad to be somewhere, anywhere at all.
>You trudge slowly forward in front of your captor, eyes to the ground where you exhaustedly crawled so many months ago. You can hear the man grunting behind you, sounding just as tired and pained as you.
>You trip over one of the tree roots and fall face first into the dirt without your arms free to stop you. You feel the rope go taught and the sound of the man stumbling forward as well. Your elbows find dirt, painfully propping your face away from the ground, and the wind leaves your lungs. The man doesn't seem to fall, and you see his shadow pass over you so that he's standing in front. He growls and drags you forward through the dirt, tugging at you to get up.
“Damn,” he mutters. “What I’d give for a pair of handcuffs right now.”
>You blink up at him as you try to get your feet under you. At last, you maintain some balance and he pushes you back in front of him so that you can lead again.
>Handcuffs? Why would he want handcuffs instead of a rope? Is...is he going to rape you? He’s going to rape you, isn’t he. You try to dismiss that idea as ludicrous. There’s no reason to think that, your head just isn’t on straight with all the events up till now. Stop assuming anything, you tell yourself. It could get you into even worse trouble.
“Why?” you grumble as you trudge onward.
>He shoves your shoulder to tell you to pick up the pace. You quicken your steps very slightly, in no rush to get to your destination.
“Because I do, ok?”
>He’s quiet a moment, and you think that might be the end of the thought. Then he abruptly speaks up again.
“I’m more familiar with them, wouldn’t have to think back to fucking boy scouts to remember how to tie good knots. Hey, what did you do for a living back in our world anyway?”
>You glare at him over your shoulder. He wants to make small-talk now? After he tried to kill you and Twilight? Oh, that sounds like a totally sane thing for a killer to do. He shoves your shoulder again.
“Come on,” he urges, returning your glare. “I might decide not to kill you if I like your answers.”
"Sure."
"Hey, have I lied to you yet? It might help, you never know."
>You doubt it, but it’s not like you have anything better to do.
“I’m a student,” you say. “That’s about it.”
>He chuckles behind you.
“Sounds relaxing.”
“It wasn’t.”
“Oh suck it the fuck up,” he says dismissively. "I've never met a student that admits school is easy while their in it. Get into the working world, then come talk to me."
>You somehow doubt that's ever going to happen, given he's intending to kill you soon. You don't voice this opinion to him though.
"I bet your job is hell, right?" you ask him. "No one likes their job. Well, except here."
>It's true, you realize. No one here hates their work. But then again, they mostly do what their good at and actually want to do, which is a far cry from your world. They're lucky, you muse. None of them will regret how they spend their life.
“And what's so great about this place? You have a good life here? Wild animals, talking fucking ponies, everything so bright and cheery and no women so you have to fuck candy-colored horses. You're fucking deluding yourself," he scoffs, shaking his head as if he pities you. "I mean, jesus, it’s like an endless trip on the ‘it’s a small world afterall’ ride.”
>You can’t help but snicker at how seriously distressed he sounds. You’ve always found it a nice reprieve from how your life was on earth. A female friend that you were getting nowhere with but wanted like crazy. Low grades, normal everyday boring bullshit. By comparison, this is perfect. He gives your back a sharp punch at your snicker, which knocks that laugh right out of you.
“It’s not fucking funny. I never thought it would be like this.”
“It’s not like you’re alone in the harsh wilderness and being attacked by wild animals,” you mutter.
“I’d prefer that,” he says. “I could at least deal with that. You know how I killed that fucking bear?”
>Your stomach tightens. You don’t want to hear this. That bear could be one of Fluttershy’s friends, and they’re all cuddles and love, like huge ridiculous teddy bears. You don’t want to hear the details of that bear’s death.
>Unfortunately, it seems like you don’t have much of a choice.
“I’d made a fire because it was getting cold. And all of a sudden this big brown fucker waddles out of the woods with a fish in its mouth. I’m scared shitless, but you know what it does? It takes a stick and skewers the fish and starts to roast it over my fire. I mean, are you kidding me? It’s just sitting there sharing my fire and smiling at me with this fish. I didn’t know what to do at first. And then it kind of half roars at me like it’s being friendly and trying to start a damn conversation.”
>You feel sick. You want to shut your eyes, cover your ears but you can’t. All you can do is keep walking and listening.
“And you know, I’ve been hunting before, and I’m thinking to myself that I don’t know how long I’m going to be here, and this bear could make me a pretty useful blanket and a shit ton of food. And he’s just sitting there, so it could be the easiest kill I’ve ever had. So I walk over the bear, acting all friendly, sit next to him, take out Emily. Fucker doesn't even give a shit that I'm holding a potential weapon. And then I just toss a rock, all nonchalant into the woods. The bear looks and BAM!”
>You wince at the word. He swings one arm and lightly taps you on the side of the head to indicate where he hit the bear.
“Right across the back of his head and I hear the crack. And he falls forward, and I’m pretty sure he’s dead, but I keep hitting the back of his head anyway until I can see broken skull because damned if bears aren’t hard to kill in our world anyway.”
>You swallow back pain and rage. The bear probably thought the man would be just like you. That he was friendly, friends with fluttershy, just a nice guy. You probably had met this bear, maybe scratched his head. You taught this bear that humans wouldn't hurt him. Yet another thing that your presence here has caused.
“And that’s when I decided, if this is what I get, if this is fucking it that they think I deserve, then I’m going to destroy all of it. If they expect me to be grateful for this bullshit they gave me, they’re dead wrong.”
“What are you talking about?” you say, shaking your head. “You keep saying they, who’s they?”
>He laughs bitterly.
“Wow, you still don’t get it, do you? Of course you don’t, you’re not even sure how you got here.”
>He's right about that, and you're obviously not getting something about this. Curiosity is beginning to creep into your mind, and a ghost of a suspicion, something you never dared to actually consider, is beginning to awaken.
“And how did you get here then, do you even know?” you mutter, still trying to keep the subject on him rather than you.
>He’s silent behind you, and you feel the rope on your wrists go taught as he stops walking for a step before starting again.
“I stopped to check out an abandoned factory building. There had been reports of vandalism and my partner and I were there first. I had a crowbar in the back of our car from a project at home, so I was prying a board off the door to get in to check it all out. Didn’t want to duck in the open window, too much broken glass. And I’m standing there, prying at this wood, when there’s a screech and this green escalade drives past wi-“
>Partner? Reports of vandalism? No...
“Wait, wait, hold on a minute,” you say, comprehension spreading coldly over you. “You were a cop?!”
>He laughs again, that bitter cynical laugh to match his smile.
“What, surprised? Don't be. Yeah, I was a cop. For three years, doing my duty to keep the general population safe. I put criminals away, put my life on the line, and this is what I get? This is ALL I fucking get?”
>You can hear rage beginning to fill his voice, and his tone is higher, jadedly sarcastic. You're not sure how to respond to this, but you can tell this is not the best situation for you to be in.
“Sure, I was using the position to get my fix when I needed it," he continues, now dismissive. "Keeping my dealers around, and maybe I used the position when it came to women on occasion, but I never hit them or nothing, and that doesn’t erase all the good I did. Besides, those fuckers back-stabbed me when they shot me and my partner that day. That's a hero's death, dying in the line of duty.”
“They shot you?”
>Your brain is reeling. This doesn’t make sense, it can’t make sense. This killer, this crazed man is a cop? You've heard of dirty cops, and you've never really liked them to say the least. But a cop being a crazed killer is like something out of a TV crime drama. And he was shot? You haven’t seen a mark on him anywhere except what twilight left. How long has he been here? Not long enough for a bullet wound to heal, assuming he could even survive that.
“Yeah, right in chest,” he says. “Though there was no hole when I woke up. And I wake up HERE? After all I did, god sends me here? No, I’m not standing for that. There are no rules here, so I guess all those guys I took down off the streets had it right. This is the way to live, especially if you get sent here anyway after being a fucking cop for three years. But if I can use you to find a way back to my life or at least out of here, then the jokes on them, right?”
“Why do you keep saying they sent you here, wha-"
>You feel a hand grip your shoulders. They spin you to face him, and now you are only inches from his face. Your body flies backwards, his hands gripping your shirt and driving back, back. You feel a painful jolt as the back of your head and body hits a tree. He hold you here, toes inches above the ground. Pain shoots though your body and you cough at the sudden impact. He holds his face closer to you, looking searchingly into your eyes and you can’t bring yourself to look away.
>There's something there, real emotion. That fake pity you saw before seems quite real now.
“You poor son of a bitch, don’t you get it?” he hisses. “That gunshot killed me, just like your fall killed you. And the powers that be sent us here.”
>Your breath freezes in your lungs. You try to speak, but nothing comes out.
“Do you understand now? We’re dead. We’re both dead and this is Hell.”
>He releases you, and you fall without any resistance to your knees. He steps back to observe you as all this sinks in, but you're hardly aware of him at this point. You're hardly aware of anything.
>You stare at the earth in front of you, that ground that you first found the day you got here. The day you were running with Miranda, you fell head first down that short ravine. You hit your head. You just hit your head, that was all, right? There was a cave in after that or something, a sinkhole you slipped down to get here. You don't remember it, but that had to have happened. That’s all there was, right?
>But you can’t stop the thoughts from coming. That doubt, that slight distant doubt is talking to you now and you can't help but listen.
>When you woke up you were lying on the grass on your back, and you felt peaceful. When you opened your eyes, everything looked so strange, but you weren’t afraid. You were tired, desperate to get somewhere, but you never felt bad necessarily. It was like coming home, like this is where you were meant to be. And you had that passing thought, that brief moment, where you wondered to yourself ‘Am I dead? Am I dreaming?’ You were dizzy. You crawled. You blacked out, but you never once felt afraid. And after that, you were never hungry, you only ate because you felt like it. And you were never sad until this man showed up. Everything just always felt so right because...
>You are. You're dead.
>The weight of it crushes down on your shoulders, and you can't shake the feeling of loss. It's like waking up a second time and forgetting that dream you were reveling in only seconds before. Then, something else comes to you. The happiness, the good feelings, the perfection, the dream that this place has been for you...
>You really are dead, but this isn’t hell. This is your heaven.
“Get up, you can cry about it later,” the man shouts, jerking you up off of your knees.
>You stand shakily and begin to walk, remembering clearly now where exactly you woke up. It’s close to here, less than a mile now, and the terrain is easy from here on. You trudge on for a while in silence, letting him push you, redirect you without a word of protest.
>You're dead. You're dead. The thought keeps going through your mind over and over, and while it makes sense you can scarcely believe it's true. You feel some amount of horror, but at the same time you strangely feel like smiling.
>Your life here has been perfect, very heavenly in fact. The ponies you've met, the places you've seen. It was all exactly what you wanted, even if you would never have guessed it before. Twilight loves you, Marigold, young though she was, had a crush on you and treated you so sweetly. Pinkie gave you an amazing place to stay, Rainbow Dash was a fantastic friend. Really, it was everything you could have asked for.
>More than you deserved.
>Until he came, of course. Everything changed after that, there was pain again, suffering. Maybe it will go back to being free of all that once this man is gone. You'll probably be gone too, if he does intend on killing you. But at least this place will regain what it had before both of you were here.
>One question suddenly comes to you, and you swallow hard as you suspect you know the answer.
>Still, you can’t help it. You have to ask.
“If we’re dead, what makes you think we can get back? And why are we going to where I showed up, why not where you showed up?”
>He chuckles, and you’re chilled by how absolutely amused he sounds.
"You said you'd help me, right?"
"Yeah."
“Well, we can bleed here, right? So, we can die here too probably, but what happens when you die?”
“I don’t know, why does it matter?”
“Well,” he says softly, and you feel the cold spark of the crowbar resting against the side of your neck. “I think when you die here you might go back. But we’ve got to test that theory now, don’t we? And since you’re the only other human here, you’re going to help me find out.”
You swallow hard and don't respond. You knew it was coming to this, but didn't want to say it. You feel the crowbar leave your neck.
"Hey, I've never lied to you. I told you I'd probably kill you eventually."
>As if on cue, you see the opening of the clearing in front of you, smell that mild waft of daisies and moist grass. The sun beams down onto the empty patch of earth near the center, padded with moss and mushrooms and the wind blows a few white flower petals from a nearby blooming tree. Peace fills you at the sight of it as the sent and sights provoke your memory of that very first night. And you know this is where you were dead once.
>The man sighs behind you and the peaceful feeling is gone.
"Your gravesite I presume?"
>Very soon, this may be where you are dead again.

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End Pt. 9