Memory Logs

The Red Strings

Meg bit down on her lip. "No, don't worry," she murmured, touching the other girl's cheek in an attempt to soothe her. "It just means... that you're... connected."

"Connected?" Claudette's voice wavered. "Has this ever happened before?? Is this another thing the Entity is summoning up to punish us??"

Meg hesitated in answering. Finally: "it's happened once. With me and... uhm, the Trapper."

"Is that why he saved you...?"

"I..." the red-head swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. "I-I think so. Who knows?"

Their hushed conversation was interrupted by ragged breathing and the two women looked up with increasing dread to see the Hillbilly hovering right in front of them, staring at them with those eerie white eyes. He hadn't moved, hadn't thrown a tantrum, hadn't even decided to hit them with his hammer. Claudette let out a bone-chilling scream and got up, turning to dart off, but Meg, for some reason unbeknownst to even herself, grabbed the ravenette's arm and held fast, keeping her there. The red-head gazed up at the killer, her head tilting curiously. "You see it too, don't you?" she questioned; though her curiosity was strong, her stance was indeed rigid, poised and ready to run at any moment. Her grip on Claudette's arm was like iron; and though the dark-skinned woman's eyes went between the two with utter panic and confusion on her face, she didn't try to yank away - she only waited there, whimpering in fear.

Meg was still wary, still had that runner's instinct; ever the brave Little Rabbit. But by this point, she knew better; things were changing, killers were breaking protocol, and this may be yet another thing to add to the list of crazy. The Hillbilly's gaze shifted from Meg, lowering to his own chest. He dropped his hammer to rest his hand over his chest in a surprisingly slow and gentle motion; then his hand moved through the air, following the string between them, reaching out for Claudette - who screamed and braced herself for pain, but was held fast by Meg's grasp on her arm.

Then his index finger touched her, just over her heart, lingering there for a few moments. Claudette was trembling from head to toe, but her eyes finally opened, fixating on his finger before lifting up to his scarred and deformed face. "Wh... why are we connected?" she asked, voice barely choking back tears.

The Hillbilly merely continued to breathe in that ragged, animal way of his; though his deformed mouth worked, as if looking for a way to answer her, nothing came out; but he kept that finger pressed to her heart. That was Meg's answer: he saw it too, and he was just as confused by the presence of the string as they were. When his gaze went back to Claudette, he merely tilted his head, something new in his expression. No anger. No rage. No guilt. Just... curiosity. As if he was seeing her for the first time, truly seeing her.

The hand on her chest moved upward, and Claudette visibly flinched - the small gesture made the Hillbilly's hand pause briefly, and that alone caught Meg's attention. He was watching Claudette closely for her reactions - what made her uncomfortable - and reacting accordingly. It only seemed to reinforce the notion Meg had developed that many of these killers... they truly were once humans, dragged into this mess just like the survivors were.

Slowly the Hillbilly's hand lifted to Claudette's hair and he gently tugged on one of her dreads - the playfulness of the gesture was absolutely shocking. Claudette blinked, suddenly trembling less than before, and she looked at him differently now, too. The dark-skinned woman had always been one of the most open, accepting people Meg had ever met; she couldn't help but think that if this were David or Nea, that they would have run off by now - or in David's case, punched the Hillbilly right in the nose. "What's... y-your name?" Claudette managed to squeak out.