"Hey, you remember what I said last year, right? We're Zombie Boy and Ghost Boy. I'm not ever gonna leave you."
"Promise?"
"One hundred percent."
***
In which Alistair fights the monster that possessed his friend alongside his friends, while trying...
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Chapter Sixty-One: The Curse Of Vecna
(Dear Billy, Pt. 6)
***
Fear.
That was the only thing Alistair could feel as the shape walked closer and closer to him, coming out of the darkness of the corridor—a darkness that felt unnatural, but Alistair hardly cared, his entire body frozen in fear as the shape now stood in front of him and he could see it.
It was himself, identical to him... except his double had a gaping hole in his chest, blood staining the shirt dark crimson, dripping from his chin.
Alistair's blood chilled as he whispered, "This isn't real. You're not real."
His double smiled. "Isn't it?"
Alistair shook his head, trying to deny what he was seeing as he stumbled back. "I... I healed. I came back. This isn't... I'm not you."
"But I am. I'm you and you're me. We're the same, Alistair. Right down to the death wounds," his double said, blood leaking down from his chin as he gave a red-stained smile. "Why are you denying it now when you've accepted it months ago?"
"I... I know. But I'm not, I can't..." Alistair stammered, the words sticking in his throat, his mind screaming as his heart raced and his scar pulsed and the death coiled in his bones burned with the cold of his powers and he wanted to run but he was frozen as his double advanced, cocking his head as he asked innocently, "Can't what?"
"I can't be dead. I'm alive!" Alistair finally forced out, sucking in a breath and releasing it, grasping his chest, feeling his racing heartbeat, proof he was alive.
But his double only smiled. "But you're not. No one comes back from the dead truly alive. You know it. Deep, deep down you know it. And I know it. There's a scar, but the cold remains, deep in your bones—our bones. Death is a friend rather than an enemy. Because you're dead. You're dead and everyone knows it as you pretend to be alive, to be truly resurrected. Living on borrowed time until you can die again and properly die—not come back as a zombie and pretend you're still Alistair Graveswood when you're not. Not anymore."
Alistair shook his head, tears burning in his eyes. "No, that isn't true. I'm alive, I came back, I'm alive."
"Don't lie, Alistair. You can't lie to yourself," his copy hissed, blood gurgling in his voice, pouring out of his mouth, a waterfall of red, his voice becoming raspy and distorted with blood, a death rattle instead of anything like Alistair's voice. "You're dead and you know it. You're a dead boy walking and have been since Starcourt. You're a walking corpse, a freak, an abomination, a monster."
Alistair's eyes burned and he wanted to cry, to scream he was wrong, that he was alive, but he couldn't, he couldn't lie to himself.
His double smiled, stretching wide, blood smeared across teeth and skin, sensing it. "It's okay, you can admit it now to yourself. No more lies, no more denial. No more pretending. You're dead, a monster who cheated death, and everyone in your life knows it, why they are all distant, that they know it would all be better if you just stayed dead instead of coming back, but now it can be over. Now the time you stole is nearly up and we can be as you should be months ago."
