📹Marble Hornets: After Entry 35

Chapter 2

The fiery pain in his leg stirred Masky awake. Tim had been conscious first, but Masky pushed himself forward and overtook the headspace. To take the brunt of the pain, physical and otherwise. He felt the edges of his mind protest briefly, then settle as Tim sank back into the fog.

Ghosts of memories flashed in Masky's mind. The abandoned house, Jay and Alex, blood on a knife, a struggle, pain, darkness. Where each fell and how they connected in time remained clouded. What exactly happened out there?

For now, the present was more pressing.

Masky choked back a cry when he shifted, electric agony darting up and down his right leg. That really fucking hurts. He hissed through his teeth. He was almost scared to look, but pried his eyes open to assess the damage.

To his surprise: a broken wooden plank, crudely fashioned into a splint with old cloth wrapped around his leg. If Masky had done this, he didn't remember.

To his next surprise: his arms were immobile, his wrists bound behind him. He was positive he couldn't have done this.

Thoughts whirled through his head. Had Alex taken him somewhere, holding him hostage? No, Alex would surely have just killed him given the chance. Whoever was holding Masky didn't mean him harm, but meant for him to stay put. But he couldn't be sure of their motives.

Masky cleared his head of theorizing and focused on his surroundings. He tested the bonds around his arms; still tied up in a cord, not too tightly, but wound around his neck and wrists in such a way that trying to get free on his own could be dangerous. An annoyed sigh escaped his throat.

With extra care to his injured leg, Masky awkwardly shifted himself up to lean into the corner of the dilapidated room. He startled when he heard a clatter just beside him.

There, on the floor, was the mask. His mask. The string snapped, plastic chipping along the edges, blank eyes staring back up at him. The thin black eyebrows raised in an almost mocking way. Seeing this filled Masky with an emotion he couldn't quite place. His whole existence was this mask; to mask Tim from his pain, from his memories, from himself. To absolve Tim, to keep him safe, to help him forget. Everything had been for Tim.

The image of Alex once again flickered in his mind. Hovering above him, concrete brick hoisted up. Anger flared in Masky's belly. Tim couldn't bring himself to hate anyone, not even Alex. For a while it had been the same for Masky, the deep empathy of his host overflowing into him.

Masky, however, now felt hate bubbling up like magma. He wondered how long it would be before Tim's caring nature would get the best of both of them.

A noise from down the hall. Masky stiffened. Footsteps? He strained to hear, but the echoing walls made placing its source impossible. He took deep breaths, trying to calm down, to remain quiet. But he knew it was only a matter of time before he would have to face his captor... or rescuer? Friend, or foe? Not knowing for sure and being so vulnerable was the most distressing.

But all Masky could do was wait as the stepping sounds drew nearer.

* * *

Hoody and Brian were having their usual argument on their way back to the room where Tim's body lay.

It wasn't quite all words more than a clash of emotions, ideas, imagery and soul. This was normal, and had been, for beyond what either could remember. It was sometimes a desperate struggle, sometimes a bittersweet partnership, a cycle they both repeated day after day after hour after minute. It was starting to tempt Hoody to find a gun just to settle things down once and for all.

Fortunately--or perhaps it was a curse--Hoody was able to block out most of any sort of irritating trauma, emotion, et cetera, that was becoming a distraction. Like they had done countless times before, Hoody cloaked their mindspace in welcoming nothingness. Brian stilled, and the pathetic anguish he was infecting the body with started to fade into a dull ache. Hoody tapped the water bottles in their hands against the wall, their legs, back, chest, and head, eventually falling into a haphazard dance to a rhythm. Nothing now matters, remember. Nothing but destroying Alex.

Hoody kicked a wall a few times as they passed by, hard. It felt fantastic.

They paused, yawning, to make sure that things inside were properly stable. Relatively speaking. Hoody didn't actually know what stability felt like, they just knew when they were in control.

And they were. Brian was pouting like a sad dog in their shared mind's corner. No distractions. Time to water their guest.

Hoody couldn't help but stiffen as they entered the room where they left Tim's body. Tim was upright now, looking directly at them. Someone was definitely awake.

They crouched and forced themself to study Tim. They disliked seeing his face uncovered, without indication of exactly who they were interacting with. But Hoody was an alter too, and knew what differences to look for. Tim's body was tense and still, his gaze was alert and followed Hoody's movements. He didn't seem bleary or confused, like Tim usually was.

Then, Hoody looked into his eyes and saw it. The same fever they felt inside. The same wild energy they'd seen burning from behind the eye holes of a white mask.

Hoody couldn't resist a smile. Hello again.

Masky flinched when Hoody stood to move closer, but they only stooped low once more to place two full water bottles near him. Masky was squinting suspiciously but made no movement.

Hoody tilted their head at him, then at the broken mask on the floor. It would probably be more comfortable for both of them if Masky could wear his titular costume, but they'd have to find a new one for him... which would be an easy steal from an arts & crafts store. Hoody pivoted to do just that.

"Wait," Tim's voice rasped as Masky used it. Hoody stopped.

Deeply buried in the mindspace, Brian twitched at the familiar sound. Hoody clamped down on him and turned just enough to see Masky over their shoulder.

"Who are you?" Masky demanded, "What do you want?"

He doesn't remember. Again, Hoody confirmed sourly. They weren't surprised, given his track record, but it sure would make things a fuck of a lot easier.

They dwelled on Masky's questions, fidgeting with the black gloves they wore. Hoody couldn't risk speaking and using Brian's voice, or giving away any kind of information that would jog Tim's memory. But then, how could they communicate that they could use Masky's help to kill Alex?

An image flashed in their mind. Brian, leaning over paper, scribbling.

Of course. Brian drew often; it was one of the few times Hoody was comfortable letting him front. It was relieving to both of them in ways beyond explaining, so they kept a stash of paper and pens in their various hiding places. They could use that.

"Why are you keeping me here? What do you want from me?" Masky repeated, and Hoody could detect the warning in his tone: If I wasn't tied up with a broken leg right now, I'd kick your ass.

Good. Hoody bit their tongue to avoid chuckling. That was the energy required to find and destroy Alex. They only needed to harness it.

Hoody walked out of the room, ignoring Masky's shouted questions and Brian's muted distress. They would find a new mask, then come back with some paper, and explain everything to their old accomplice.

They just had to stay focused.