To Become a Monster - ONC 2024

Chapter Three

A layer of cold had set in Wilder's bones sometime between seeing the body and the walk home. It floated there in between his mind and body- half-chilling his skin and half-numbing him to the world. No amount of blankets, fire, or warmth would remedy this. 

"Here, you look like you need this." Theon smiled half-heartedly, pressing a glass into his hands with a deep concern Wilder could never hope to deserve. Still, he took it, downing a large sip of the amber liquid inside it and revelling in the flame that coursed down the back of his neck. The warmth was short-lived, not even falling to ash on the tip of his tongue. God, nothing would ever be enough, would it? 

"We don't have to talk about this today. We don't have to talk about it at all. I- I shouldn't have sent you. I am so sorry." Theon's gemstone blue eyes were still on him, tracking the movement of the glass, even as his voice cracked with pain. Wilder looked across to the forest green wall. He couldn't - He - 

"It's fine. It's my job." 

"I wish it didn't have to be. I wish we could just save everyone." 

"I know." Wilder kept his eyes fixed on the gentle glow of the candle, wishing its deep orange flames could wash it all away. Each sway and sputter of the light shone upon the thousands of gilded book titles covering the walls. He let the silence hang heavy as he watched its hypnotic rhythms, emotions fading and growing with its movement. He could do this. Wilder had seen dead people before, though none as horribly mutilated as the ones from today. He just had to ignore what he felt. It wasn't as if that idea was new to him, at least. Swallowing that slimy sick feeling in his chest with the last drop of his drink, he began. 

"That's-" Theon took a large sip of his drink, "that's awful." 

"That's not even the worst of it. There was so much blood, the body looked like pieces of string-" 

"I know you said it was your job, but I'm sorry I sent you. To think those people were torn apart like that-" Theon shuddered. They had spent the past hour going over the minute details of the murders, and neither of them would ever sleep that night, let alone get the images out of their minds. 

"So what do we tell Val?" Wilder asked, desperate to get away from that discussion. 

"We have to tell him the truth. What else is there to say? If ten people die in one night from an attack like that, then what's stopping it from happening again? We have to give him all the information so that we have more people working together. We can't let that happen again. We just can't." 

Wilder's skin itched. Talking to Val once was enough to make him feel shaken. He had been getting sloppy with his secrets recently, and it was only a matter of time before he slipped up. He hardly knew anything about Val, apart from the fact he had never really taken much action in anything like this before today. Hell, most people didn't even know who he was. That man was too good at hiding, and if he didn't know Wilder's secret, what did he have to hide? 

"Are we sure we can trust him?" He blurted before he even knew he had spoken. God, he was getting too reckless. 

"I don't trust any of them. They're all snakes and liars desperate for personal profit. But, Val? He's pretty much harmless. I wouldn't go so far as trust, but what other choice do we have?" 

Well, working alone like usual seemed like another option, but Wilder wasn't going to risk anything right now. He nodded, head falling like it was about to meet its fate on the executioner's block. He was a fool- a goddamn fool like the rest of them. 

Silence descended again, not heavy like before. No, this time it was constricting, an oppressive noose creeping closer with joy gleaming on its sharp, ravenous teeth. He played with his glass, swirling the little that remained, toying with the tranquillity. He froze. The liquid sloshed, tiny droplets of amber separating for less than a second and then sinking back down. Wilder pulled it to his lips again, draining it to the dregs. This time, rather than letting it fall down his throat free of punishment, he held it there, fire growing on his lips like a raging inferno. The drink remained on his tongue, its false sweetness fading as it battled his nature. As long as he remained still, he would not have to acknowledge his discomfort. And, if he didn't acknowledge his discomfort, he wouldn't have to risk secrets spilling out of his mouth like some bloody, mangled mess of lies. It was a foolproof plan, really.