Cares of Communion (Bendy and the Ink Machine)

7- Lure and Lull

"The Lord has made everything for its purpose, even the wicked for the day of trouble." – Proverbs 16:4

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Let's leave Francine behind for a bit- at least as we see her now, her soul caressed in the hands of a father eternal. Let's release their conflicting emotions as both found peace and upset; the young woman scared to contemplate a life without chasing all she did not know and yet finding comfort with the promise of someone who would not only always care for her but promised to listen to her calls for comradery- the fulfillment of her search for others in order to find solace for herself in their arms; the ancient man so terribly afraid of being known at all, and yet rediscovering the absolute joy of speaking to someone again- to not only witness but interact with so the other person may feel all the warmth in his heart.

And how did Joey believe he had so much warmth left to give, locking it away between his lungs like holding his breath for far too long.

Amazing, isn't it? That Joey was fearful to be close and Francine was fearful to let go, and yet they began to find how relieving it was to allow.

How...simple it was to let a phobia take you until it becomes something good.

But that's not what Sammy was thinking about when Francine left him alone his own fears. It had begun when she returned from retrieving the photo- no. Even before then. Maybe when she had first been put into his custody.

What his contradictory feelings were resided within his budding acknowledgement of life outside his personal hell; that was the good part.

It was also the bad.

The photo- those faces. The glasses...

His face.

That thing he found while wandering on his own as Francine did the same looked like those on the bridge of that human man's nose in the black and white picture. When he recalled this image- gone but not forgotten- he didn't know who it was barely smiling back at him- he only guessed, only hoped that it was he.

Maybe hoped it wasn't, too.

But as he sat in his sanctuary shortly after his companion escaped it to find rest, he couldn't doubt something else that made that photo undeniable.

Between glossy fingers careful not to stain broken lenses any further, two ovals of glass were held up towards the ceiling, being played with ever so delicately to observe how light shifted across the clear surface and the metallic frames with every movement of his knuckles.

These- something even deeper inside than his own gut was yelling at him- were his.

And for these to be his could very well mean that that man could be his too.

Along with doubts about God, the omnipotence he entrusted so unquestioningly that he never looked for his past until Francine shoved it into his face?

Well that was simply unbearable to sit alone with.

And now he was beginning to remember why Francine never seemed to keep still; it was a familiar pain that he had shoved aside, to be uncomfortable with your own thoughts in a quiet room.

Sammy should have known from all the years before her what it was like to be alone with things you don't want to see. Fear was consuming him, and it made him restless.

And all he could think to do to quiet dark ideas were to delve deeper until the voice of someone who knew could silence all the others who merely begged.

Sammy didn't know if he really wanted to have known her before. But all the same, he journeyed with purpose back to the last place he'd see Francine...

Only for her to be there waiting for him, in the arms of an angel.

The prophet froze where he stood, legs and arms outstretched side to side and his shoulders rising and falling in panic. It was a response so very active- so very upset- that served as a great contrast to what was before him.

In this small chamber was a couch placed the wall, with the visage of the dancing demon's opposition tinging every corner of the room with her aura. One was propped up tall as a cutout, full stance watching over the others. And as Sammy's painted eyes fell upon Francine, he saw she was guarded with yet two more of the same being.

And only one was a doll.

He only caught a split second of the end of the angel's moment of reprieve- that instant where her one perfect eye was nearly closed shut, either a black iris or a pupil looking aimlessly forward above slightly parted, torn lips. She didn't hide it in time for him not to see, but all the same it was so quick how her head twisted and gaze snapped to lock onto him- like she was a lioness and he was prey wandering into her den.

And maybe he was.

But all the same, Alice knew without even looking to the mortal at her side to know this wasn't the place to maim.

That would be somewhere else.

And so as Sammy stood there, silent with shock, Alice Angel put a single finger to her lips to signal he remain silent around her sleeping cherub...or else.

And maybe it was the stun of the whole scene. Maybe it was seeing his fellow disciple finally, finally at rest- her eyes closed shut and hair swooping messily around her in this suspension of consciousness- her fists gently closed shut and folded over her stomach and chest...

Maybe it was that he promised he would trust her.

And so she would have to trust him in unwitting return as the spider lured the prophet into her web right in front of her nose. He had only come to see one of these women, but it seemed to follow at Francine's heels with an inevitable destiny...but that would not stop him from trying to find that which was stolen from him, even if it the answers could lie with the creature that hated him most.

One last glance back at the sleeping woman before Sammy allowed Alice to lead him away, a conversation to be had outside of the reaches of innocent ears.

He had sins to answer for before Alice would tell him a thing about who he used to be, and so Francine would then be left on her own to choose Joey's abyss over an empty room.