The Eden Projects (EDITING)

Chapter 18. Humanity.

There were no questions about it, Archer was gone. 

Although, every creak the barn made brought him back to them. 

So they waited, they listened. Begging for him to walk through the door, to kick Kasper out, to lambast them with the truth. But he never would. The dead couldn't speak. 

Kasper did his best when he wasn't thinking, but now, his mind rambled at one hundred words per second, and he saw their faces, the Flickers, his own reflections of guilt. The people he killed. Archer. Archer. The way he tore through them all like wet paper, a gruesome telling of his own engrained brutality. It was so easy, almost too easy, as if he were merely playing a game with no consequences. I killed them. I am a killer. He ached for validation, for someone to utter those words aloud, to give voice to the parts that consumed him. He wanted to hear it spoken—wanted someone to tell him and confirm the worst of himself, to solidify the horrific truth that he had become just that. A killer. 

Archer... He would never hear it, or see that anger-fueled stare that burned with righteous judgement, or the well-placed satisfaction of someone who had been proven right all along. He would never hear Zak defend him in what he had chosen to do, nor would he ever receive the true forgiveness he craved, the understanding that might have eased his tormented soul. I am a monster. 

He was slipping, losing his grip on the remnants of his humanity, self-loathing be damned. This was torment. 

After all, Kasper was a vessel and nothing more for whatever the thing that lived in his shadow truly was. What Adam was. 

I can't run... He couldn't run. 

I can't stop it. He was helpless. 

I'm so hungry... He could never be sated. 

His was a hunger that ran deeper than his pitting stomach, it was an emptiness plunging down into his very soul. Maybe I've got it all wrong. Kasper turned over, looking at Zak who slept buried in his blankets and hay. If he's safe, if I protect him, and that means I... kill... is it wrong? If I do it to be strong for him? He stuck out his hand against the space between them and touched the corner of Zak's sleeping bag. Barely brushing his exposed bloody fingers. His pinky gentle swept over one of Zak's bruised knuckles. There were no right choices. There was no devils advocate. There's no going back... maybe this is my purpose... maybe this is my why... It's just one more person, if it's Malcolm, in exchange for Archer. He'd want that. He withdrew, pulling back into himself as Zak stirred and shifted over under his touch. One more. Yet he himself still couldn't decide whether he wanted to kill the man in revenge, or to fill his own growing lust for blood. 

He was so hungry. 

Kasper, was slipping.

Morning came easy, a stillness that seemed to envelop everything in its embrace. Wind tossed the grasses outside with a gentle swish. The barn hum softly, creating a soothing backdrop to the quiet. Every now and again, a stiff billow rattled the tin roof, causing Kasper to sit up, heart racing, expectant of some giant beast to tear it from its nails and unleash chaos in the hayloft. But it never did. He rubbed his face, feeling the grit of the previous day's struggles, then picked at the dirt and dried blood that had nested stubbornly in his hair and fingers, remnants of a night filled with restless dreams and poor choices. With a sigh, he nudged Zak awake, his voice barely above a whisper. "Zak- Zak-"

Zak jolted and sat up quickly. The sleeping bag coming up with him. The color drained from his complexion and he swooned for a moment. "Wh- what time is it?" He mumbled, laying back down after a few seconds. "Damn."  He wished he were waking from a nightmare. Oh how he wished that was all it was. Nightmares could end. This couldn't.