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There Is Not Enough Time.
This is all you know for certain from the footage playing out on Mae's monitor. Death is in its wake and takes the form of the living: that ever-shifting, unnaturally-contorting Mound of cackling flesh, the sight of which drains the blood from your tired veins. You strain your eyes as you watch it propagate its impossible anatomies into higher dimensions and tear its way through your terrorized colleagues, swearing against all reason that amongst the endlessly convolving sets of teeth on screen you spy your very own– and so you turn around to check, but Lark is still standing beside Hero, his hands shaking more than hers as they both ready their aims. You inhale. She doesn't know that guns didn't work the first time, that magic had barely been enough to contain it, that there was a reason the solution had ultimately been to seal it away. You exhale. Would a prophecy shield its chosen one? you can't help but wonder, but There Is Not Enough Time to think about it.
"I'm sorry dad!" Normal cries, his voice scratchy and strained, "I'm sorry, I thought someone needed help I didn't know what to do I just wanted to help it I didn't know I just thought someone needed my help I'm sorry I-"
You squeeze his little hand reassuringly.
"Normal," you soothe in a gentle but serious tone, "it's okay, but you need to stop talking now. Something very serious is going on. When I tell you to run, you need to run, okay?"
He swallows, and nods, tears streaming down his face.
"Okay."
Up until this point, you've mostly managed to drown out the sirens blaring and the harsh glow of emergency lights bathing your world in red, but as you stare into Normal's watering eyes your thoughts come to a standstill and you can hardly seem to register anything else. Just as suddenly, however, you are strung back into form by the sounds of smiling skin spidering through the ventilation system, an embolism in the lungs of the institution that once instilled you with hope that things could some day be normal again. You passively process Lark speaking with your father through his wristwatch in the background. You quickly glance between your children and an unearthly chill runs up your spine, not from the knowledge of the world crumbling around you, but from the wicked sensation boiling over in your heart reminding you that you can still save it. Your chest warms as the line of flight woven into the very essence of your being resonates from within, the story of your life daring you to turn it on its head from behind the fourth wall.
You think briefly of your father, and notice that your hands and legs are now shaking.
Lark turns back to look to you for guidance. Lucidity washes through you momentarily and forces you to hold your tongue. He hears the unsaid all the same, and nods, silently contemplating the bad ideas running through your head like they were his own.
"Dad's never gonna allow it" he says. He's right, of course, but in just seconds time the heat in your heels has you and Normal springing through the door and hurdling up The Staircase– as though fate itself had made a break for it and was just around the bend.
You try not to count the seconds passing as you climb your way to the highest floor of D.A.D.D.I.E.S.. When you make it to the top, the whole situation feels remarkably similar to entering the room before a boss fight in the kinds of gruesome games you and your brother would have eagerly watched Grant play now many years ago. But rather than quicksave as he would have, you kick the door open and flinch when it hits the wall harder than you had expected. In front of you, your parents stand back to back, slinging out spells in near-perfect sync as laughing limbs encroach upon them.
There is a lump in your throat where the lie you told would be. Too entrenched in your unraveled shame to live through this part again, your unconscious mind seems to jump ahead and omit details chaotically, like hastily scratched cells in an otherwise inconspicuous roll of film. You eye the safe, a stone wall encases it, you pull an enchanted screwdriver out from your pocket and wedge it between a crack as your father screams at you to change your foolish mind, his exact words incomprehensible until you make out the following:
"We'll reform D.A.D.D.I.E.S! We'll regroup!"
"With who?" you want to ask, "They'll all be dead!" but a good dog doesn't bark back.
Molten flesh flings itself upon your father, who falls to the ground with a thud as your mother begins slashing away at it with her knife to no avail. You lock eyes, darting your gaze away only briefly to catch one more piece of the monster preparing to mince Normal to shreds.
Prophecies be damned, you have your own Choice to make.
And this,
This is the point of no return.
This is all you know for certain as you look into your father's eyes. Death is in its wake and takes the form of the living: that disappointed scowl that wields mercy on its tongue, never again in your favor.
. . .
Yes, that line was the one you crossed on that dreadful day, but not today. No, not today. Remember, Sparrow, You Are Only Dreaming.
And so,
Perfect prophet of chaos, struck down by a vision. Inaction. The choice not to choose. Infinite lacerations and the soft-spoken reassurance that This Will All Be Over Soon. Prophecies be forgiven, it'll work itself out somehow. Even if your children die, it's gonna be alright.
Freshly resigned to the brighter fate you finally found, you place the screwdriver down, avoiding your mother and father's gaze as you leap to shield Normal's body with your own.
(Remember, Sparrow, This Is The Right Thing To Do.)
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry dad! I'm so sorry!" Normal wails, catatonic beneath you as piping hot fingernails peel the skin off your back voraciously and without mercy. What you want to say is "No, Normal, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for all of this," but all that comes out is a blood-curdling cry. Your mother and father are screaming too. No one will save you now, but still from the most primal piece of your heart you reach out one last time–
"LARK!"
No response.
"Dad I'm so sorry please dad please I didn't mean to dad I-"
"REBECCA!"
Terror still caught in your maw as you wake, you spring forward, upright now, the remnant of a shriek escaping you and leaving you disoriented, struggling to still your breath against a panicked heart.
Rebecca's eyes are half-open, her face illuminated by the moonlight as she looks up at you, concern painting her expression as she slowly awakens (hint: You've both been here before). Carefully, she rises to meet you, and finally outstretches her arms in offering. You reach out to touch her but the hot, liquid guilt spilling from your fingertips stops you in your tracks. Ever the amenable mutt, you allow your shame to chain you down before you can make a bigger mess of things. Chained: around your neck and to the fence that lies between your rotting soul and tender salvation. Salvation: what lies on Rebecca's side of the bed. Lies: you are not an inconvenience, and you are worthy of love (your father loves you very much, of course, he just needs some space to think). In the shadow of any lie lies Truth, and Truth hangs over you:
If she knew what you did, she'd be gone in an instant.
Love:
Love is a fragile thing, and your hands were always too shaky to handle it with care. One thing is certain: you would sooner hold it too tightly and allow it to cut you open than let it slip away from you; bleeding, and trained to be satisfied with the simple state of not being alone. Beggars can't be choosers, and you are nothing but a starving wolf.
And so, like the scared animal that you are, you begin to tremble.
"Oh! Oh no, it's okay my darling, I've got you."
Against her own nature, she forgoes meeting you halfway and finds you on the other side, wrapping you in her warmth and holding you close. Freedom finds you in the precious seconds where your body meets hers and your mind has not yet stolen you. She strokes your back, taming your heart so it doesn't leave its ribcage. Weakly, but with all the strength you have left, you manage to wrap your arms around her waist and fall into her, your head now resting by her neck.
Love:
"Do you want to talk about it?"
You close your eyes, tears rolling down your face and dampening her shoulder. You sniffle.
Some days, it feels like a protective wall of glass was put up around the perimeter of your mind to keep anyone from getting in and keep you from getting out. Everyone can peer through and watch you, but even Rebecca can't say for sure how far away you really are. She is right here in bed, of course, but you in your ice cold heart of hearts are still somewhere back on earth.
No, no you don't want to talk about it.
[Inhale.]
Lies:
You did the best that you could
You did the best that you could
You did the best that you could
You did the best that you could
You did the best that you could
You did the best that you could
Chained:
(But you needed to be a lot better.)
Salvation:
Rebecca takes your hand in hers, gently, as she does, and guides it along until she's fastened it to cup her breast. She knows it's not the time, and that's why she smiles at you so cheekily. A short laugh is sucked out of you.
[Exhale.]
"I love you."
Sure you do, but you think that maybe in the next life you could love her like you were meant to, lips speaking hymns against her holy flesh where they once knew nothing but apologies. Selfishly, you pray to the gods above, beyond, and below that Grant was right: that Hell is all there is, just so that you hold some slim chance of finding one another again.
"I love you too."
"Can we check on the kids?"
"We will, mi vida, but stay with me here first. Breathe, my love, you were only dreaming."
You sling one arm over her shoulder and tighten your grip, burying your face in her shoulder blade as you begin to sob, wracking with the deep ache of all the unfixable flaws in Who You Are, forever tucked away where no one can waste their time trying to love them.
"You're good, Sparrow" she tells you, her voice just above a whisper. You only cry louder as you bend and fold to make yourself as small as possible.
The truth is that you love Rebecca too much for shaking hands to ever hold, and so you bleed out in her arms, fed as you unfold.
And still she kisses your forehead, oh so gently.