To Heal All Wounds

Homecoming

"I'm sorry."

It was all he could muster. It was all he could think. It was a mantra that rattled around his brain over and over again as he lay dying on the floor.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry for everything.

I'm sorry for tormenting you.

I'm sorry for tormenting your friends.

I'm sorry for getting us moved to this stupid fucking town.

I'm sorry for getting overtaken by this thing.

I'm sorry for trying to kill your friends.

I'm sorry for trying to kill you.

I'm sorry.

And then the pain just... stopped. It stopped and Billy took his first lung full of air in what felt like years. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, but when they did he didn't see fire and blood and some hideous monster. He saw... nothing.

So this was death. Endless black and nothingness. At least he wasn't in pain. At least it wasn't as loud.

At least Max was safe.

Billy slowly became aware of his limbs. Sensation trickled down from his eyes, slowly filling his arms, torso, and legs with feeling. He flexed, bending his arms and hands, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and back.

He had a body in death?

Slowly, shapes began to form from the darkness. A doorway. Was he meant to walk through it? He took one slow, uncertain, unsteady step towards it, and then another. Eventually, his legs got used to bearing the weight of his body again and his strides became more even. And as he got closer, Billy was able to make out details of the doorway.

It was flanked by openings, and in those openings were bodies strewn and laying in strange positions. Parts laid separated from their bodies. Nothing moved.

He belonged in Hell. If not for all of the torment he'd imposed upon Max, then certainly for the horrors he'd committed while overtaken. Even if he had screamed, locked in the prison of his mind, and begged whatever had him to stop.

A sign loomed over the door and it took Billy a moment to understand what it said.

Gap.

Wait.

The gears in Billy's mind screamed and ground to a halt. He could feel his jaw hanging open as he struggled to understand what was slowly becoming apparent.

He was not, in fact, going to Hell. He was not even dead. He was instead very much alive, if the trembling in his hands and the pounding of his heart was any indication, and he was still at Starcourt Mall.

He was still at Starcourt Mall.

Panic hit him them, and he called out Max's name. All that answered him, however, was the echo of his own voice, strange in its fear. He'd never heard himself afraid before.

He called her again, but there was still no answer. She was either dead or gone. Or taken. He scrambled to where he'd last seen her, but she wasn't there. She wasn't there. Her body wasn't there.

At the very least, she wasn't dead.

But if whatever had him now had Max... it would have been better than she was.

Billy sank to his knees and realized for the first time the ache in his chest. Was it still bleeding? He felt the skin but found nothing. No blood. No viscera. No gore. Just skin. So then... what was that feeling?