Gravity Rises (S3)

CW: Part Twenty-Four

"This is my fault. This whole thing with Bill possessing you, it's — it's my fault."

Fidds sat alone in the parlor.

He'd pretended to be asleep when Melody had come in to check on him earlier. But now he sat up on his bed, listening to the faint sounds of conversation coming from the living room, trying to decide if he wanted to go out there.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't be crying to you about this."

Danny and some other neighbors had helped bring down one of the twin-sized beds from the attic — the twins had already gotten most of their things out. There was no way Fidds should be climbing stairs right now (especially not under Melody's watchful eye), so instead of staying in the attic like he did thirty years ago, he took over the parlor.

It meant he was a lot closer to Ford's room. It increased the frequency at which they saw each other — and the frequency at which Fidds caught Ford giving him murderous looks out of the corner of his eye.

"I'm not going to kill you."

Besides the secret murderous looks, though, Ford really was doing a good job at taking Fidds in. He seemed to be taking Lee's final directive seriously, despite the fact that Fidds was absolutely certain Ford despised him.

He should. Fidds deserved to be despised.

"You have to."

Fidds, of course, hadn't wanted to do it. Sometimes, anger appeared in Fidds' throat, and he wanted to yell at Ford that it wasn't fair, that he hadn't wanted to, that Lee had made him, that Bill had made Lee make him — but that anger usually fizzled away as quickly as it had come. Fidds knew he'd been the ideal murderer, especially since he had already done so many terrible things.

"You said yourself that it's like you killed me thirty years ago when you wiped my memory. Now you have to do it again."

But it really wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that Lee had to die in the first place. He had so much he could've done. So much time he could've spent with his family.

Not Fidds, though. Fidds had no family left. And his mentor Lilith was certainly dead by now. Although. . . well, frankly, Fidds sometimes wondered if she had simply died that day back in Tennessee — that day she tried to fly. With what he'd learned about magic and its limitations. . . her death was more likely than her survival.

Regardless. It was very unlikely that she was still alive, after all these years. Fidds had a small urge to try summoning her ghost, but he didn't think she'd be anywhere near here. Plus, he was a little afraid of talking to her and learning for certain that she really had died that day in 1976.

Much better to think of her flying away, and living a happy, adventurous life, before passing away peacefully years later.

The point was — if anyone should be dead, it should be Fidds. Lee should be alive. Lee should be with Ford. Lee should be helping the town and the supernatural creatures with the recovery.

But Lee wasn't alive. Fidds was. Unfairness notwithstanding.

And Fidds couldn't do anything to change that.

"You can't die for me."

Fidds sighed. He shouldn't just be sitting here — he should be enjoying the movement and the sunshine that Lee couldn't. He should be socializing with whoever was out in the living room. But he couldn't get himself to move from this bed: his island in a sea of an empty room.

Forget going out there. Fidds should just lie here and never move again.

So he shifted to lie down. . . but halfway there, an idea sparked in his mind.