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They lay Sharon off the Road and let the ground take her. Once everyone is done being holier-than-thou about how Agatha keeps forgetting the woman's real name. Whatever, she wants to say, so what, so what if I forget her name and so what if I don't care and so what if – just SHUT UP, but she doesn't say any of that.
Mostly because they're all a little on edge after the first trial, and she's included in that all. She doesn't want to be. She would be better off if she just – put it behind her, pushed it to the back of her mind, closed it up and locked the doors. She's so good at doing that, she's so good at just making something disappear. She could. She can. She can do it.
But the memory haunts her anyway, the vision follows her like a ghost wrapped around her shoulders, and Agatha wants to scream and tear off all her clothing and go bolting into the woods and see then who's going to dare give her a Serious Talk about Mrs. Fucking Hart.
Sharon.
Whatever.
Agatha obviously doesn't tear off all her clothing and go bolting into the woods. That would be admitting defeat way too early on. No, she's going to make it through this, all the way to the goddamned end. She doesn't care who else makes it or doesn't make it, and the next time someone tries to tug on her heartstrings (nonexistent by the way if you must know) and scold her for not caring enough she's going to whip around and slap them until their face looks worse than theirs did when that poison took hold.
“Agatha?”
Teen's voice is soft beside her. He's got his eyeliner back, his whole goth thing, and it's sort of a huge relief. Something about seeing him cleaned and prettied up in that fake house had been giving her the creeps.
They've been walking in silence for a while – how long, exactly, she's not sure, but judging by the increasing complaints from Lilia and Alice they're going to have to stop for a rest soon, even though she'd rather keep going. She'd rather keep going on her own, too. She might even think about it. But in the end she won't actually, because even if she hates it, she needs the rest of these total rejects.
At least for now.
“What?”
“Are you okay?”
Agatha trips over a root that seems to come out of nowhere in the middle of the path and goes sprawling facefirst into the Road. The Road is not actually that hard of a road, especially considering all the leaves layered over it, so it's a dry and soft landing, but she still lies there for a second with the awkward silence swelling around her and the rest of the group, wanting to scream.
“Uh,” Jennifer says somewhere behind and above her, “are you good?”
Agatha grits her teeth and pushes herself up, brushing off her coat. The answer is no. No, she's not good, because there seems to be no signs of the second trial coming up any time soon, and the Road ahead is long and stretching and winding on and on and ever on, and she is so sick of –
“Woah,” Alice says and suddenly there's a hand on her, guiding her down to the ground, which might be a good thing with how abruptly the world starts to spin around her.
Agatha waits until she's sitting there in the scattered leaves to shake Alice off, grumbling. “I'm fine. Stop touching me.” She scowls at the group gathered around her like a bunch of vultures, and then at the root that she'd fallen over. It disappears beneath the earth in the blink of an eye.
Agatha sort of very much hates the Road.
“Here,” Teen says, leaning down toward her with a bottle of water in hand, “drink.”
He says it at the same time Jennifer holds out a bag of what looks like trail mix or something and says, “Here, eat.”
And then they all stand (in Agatha's case, sit) there like idiots for a few seconds, absorbing the silence in the air that is again awkward but not as bad as when she'd tripped and fallen on her face.
Agatha takes the water, staring at it. “Where did you get that?”
“I found it a mile or so back,” Teen says, and it's obvious when the others look at each other that he's the only one that's been keeping track of how far the Road goes even if it seems endless. Agatha hadn't been bothering, either. It's a ridiculous, silly, stupid thing to do, trying to keep track of time and miles in this place.
He'll give up after a few more miles, probably.
“You...found it,” Agatha repeats slowly. Like he's stupid.
The bottle crinkles in her hand when she presses down. It's cold, like it's fresh out of a fridge, and the label has been stripped from it. Or maybe there was never a label. Which is definitely way too suspicious for her to even consider drinking it. She lifts it up pointedly toward him with a glare.
Teen looks at her, then looks at the bottle, then at her again.
“Oh,” he says. “Well.”
Alice snatches the bottle out of her hand, twists off the cap, and takes a deep drink.
They all stare at her.
She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and shrugs. “I'm thirsty. We can wait a few minutes and if nothing happens, then you can drink too.”
Agatha would be more comfortable waiting a few hours, actually. The Road can be patient in its hunger. So very, painfully patient.
Eventually they're all sitting there on the side of the Road, not quite off it because they've all seen now what happens when someone goes off it, waiting. Jennifer takes a drink too, eventually. Then Teen, though Agatha has to angrily stamp down the urge to stop him, then Lilia, and then...
Agatha rolls her eyes and takes it and drinks. It feels good, smooth and cold going down her throat. It's just water. It just feels like water. The Road has given them water.
“Ugh,” she says anyway, passing it back to Alice, “I can't believe I'm sharing a bottle with you people.”
It takes them a couple minutes in their eagerness for hydration to realize that the bottle refills itself, a little like the wine had. That gives them pause, but their heads still haven't popped off in a shower of gore by the time Agatha's mouth no longer feels like a desert, so she reluctantly admits to herself that maybe it's safe.
“Wait,” she says then, with a nod to Jennifer's trail mix, “where the hell did that come from, then?”
Jennifer raises a brow. “I brought it with me,” she says in a very 'this-should-be-obvious-even-though-it's-obviously-not-obvious' sort of tone. “What, do you think I was going to come unprepared for a long trip down the Road?”
Agatha wants to hit her.
“Did you bring anything else?” Alice asks.
“My phone, of course. But...” Jennifer waves it around, a little rose-gold thing clasped secure in her fingers. “No service.”
Alice sighs. “I was worried about that. You have Candy Crush on there or anything?”
“Candy...what? No, do I look like someone that plays apps on my phone to you?”
“Jesus, I think you're the only person in the world that would get offended by that question...”
“Shut up!”
And they all do.
Agatha just wishes she'd been the one to get around to telling them to shut up first, but then again maybe it wouldn't have been nearly as effective from someone who was so sick of hearing their voices prattling on about random nonsense instead of someone that was experiencing some sort of hallucination or vision like Lilia clearly is. The woman is hunched over, hands clapped tight over her ears, her expression twisted into one of such agony that Agatha feels a brief, awkward pang of something inside of her.
She'd felt it before, back in the house when Lilia had come out of nowhere like spirits were chasing her, babbling something in Sicilian.
(Agatha knows some Sicilian. Agatha knows some of a lot of languages, because sometimes you get bored with such a long life, but she'd rather not think about the actual words, anyway.)
Fine, sure, it's a little difficult not to have at least a little sympathy for someone who's clearly literally haunted by something.
That, and, well, she's Agatha's favorite of the lot. Not that that's saying much, mind you, she can't stand any of them, but if it was Jennifer experiencing nightmarish visions Agatha would probably just consider giving her a good kick in the ass to get her going again.
Lilia doesn't speak again for a while, just mumbles under her breath, things like be quiet and please and go, go now until the silence falls over them again, heavy like a blanket.
Or, you know, something more suffocating, like the mud off the Road.
“Here,” Alice says, soft and quiet again, and pushes the bottle of water gently into Lilia's hands. “Hold it, it'll help.”
Agatha has no idea what that means, how a bottle of water could help someone recover from something like that, but just when she's about to push herself up to her feet and insist they keep moving instead because that'll help them all a lot more, Lilia takes the bottle and holds it close, shoulders shaking.
And because it looks like it's either that or her going back to almost hyperventilating, Agatha stays quiet.
Teen sits by Lilia, like a little familiar even though technically he's supposed to be Agatha's pet, but she can't be too annoyed by it. She is annoyed when the others join in, forming a little half-circle on and around a log that seems to appear out of nowhere for them to sit on.
Agatha is the last to go, reluctantly sitting against one end of the heavy thing with a roll of her eyes. At least it's sturdy, steady, and gives her something to focus on, the feeling of the wood slightly uncomfortable as it digs into her back. Better than thinking about other things. Better than thinking about –
Just in time, Lilia quietly passes the bottle to her again, and Agatha sips. Passes it to Jennifer, who passes it to Teen, who passes it to Alice again.
“I'm sorry,” Lilia says suddenly, “that was inappropriate.” Her hand is on Teen's shoulder, so she might only be addressing him, and he does seem the most concerned, but they all hear it.
Agatha rolls her eyes. “Yes it was,” she says, and twists around when she feels the weight of everyone's gazes on her all at once. “...What?”
“Do you know the word 'empathy'?” Jennifer says.
“Do you know the word 'lawsuit'?”
That shuts her up real quick.
Lilia sighs. “We should keep going,” she says. “The water isn't refilling itself anymore.”
They all look at the bottle. Sure enough, it's nearly depleted, and it isn't rising to the top again.
“Great,” Agatha says, “we've wasted enough time already.”
“Twenty-eight minutes, actually, not bad,” Teen says.
Then they're all looking at him.
“You're odd,” Agatha says.
Teen sniffs. “I get that a lot.”
“I bet you do.” Agatha pushes herself up and starts off down the Road again, taking the lead. This time she keeps her gaze low so that if a root comes out of nowhere she can actually have a decent chance of avoiding it, but it's difficult with the group dissolving into chatter behind and around her again, Teen pulling Lilia into some sort of casual chat Agatha doesn't even bother tuning into and Jennifer and Alice talking about how much longer they might have before the next trial.
It's strangely quiet compared to before.
Mrs. Hart had been the chatterbox of the group and she hadn't even really been part of the group.
Sharon, she thinks suddenly. Sharon.
She had been eager and enthusiastic and loud and annoying and then she had just been afraid at the end. Afraid and silent and then dead.
Just like –
“Here,” someone says beside her suddenly and then Jennifer is shoving her trail mix into Agatha's hands.
Agatha stares down at it, then at Jennifer, who shrugs. “You're looking a little pale.”
Like a bunch of granola is going to do her any favors. Agatha wants to shove it back at Jennifer, or maybe shove Jennifer herself. But for some reason she does neither of those things. She opens up the little bag and takes a handful instead, taking a small comfort in feeling it crunch under her teeth.
“...Are there M&Ms in this?”
“Well, yeah,” Jennifer says, like it should be obvious. “What's trail mix without M&Ms?”
Agatha ends up picking all of them out for herself before they get to the second trial.
No one complains.