Taken • cth

eight | episode

Avertizare 3

The old rotten door makes a sickening sound when Jack pulls it open, entering the worn down house and welcoming the rush of cold air that hits him. Jane is sitting at the table, picking at her nails with what looks like a bloody plate in front of her. Nobody else seems to be home.

"Where is everybody?" He asks when he pulls the door shut behind him, ignoring the flurry of dust that cascades down from the ceiling. He flips his hood down and pulls off his mask, tossing it onto the old table with a clatter. He reaches up to wipe at his face, grimacing when his hand gets smeared with makeup. Human shit is so stupid. Why would you put powder on your skin? The only good it's done him is a cheap disguise and some serious pore issues.

"Jeff felt the urge and went to find a hobo to shank, Toby is probably out playing fetch with Smiley, and Slendy is out preparing again." She looks up at him, raising an eyebrow. "Take that stuff off, it makes you look stupid."

"Tell me about it." He kicks off his boots, walking over to the sink to splash some water on his face. The milky substance swirls into the drain as he does so, and he can't resist sloshing some of the liquid onto his arms as well. He's practically a fucking painting these days. "Remind me again why we have to do this stalking psychological-torture thing again? It's exhausting."

"It makes their soul more distraught before it's reaped, you know that." She rolls her eyes. "Six more days, bud, then it'll be over. Just hang in there."

"Easy for you to say." He replies, grimacing. "You haven't been jacking with these people for the past twenty years. Nice work at the restaurant earlier by the way, the look on Jamison's face was priceless." He pauses, his stomach rumbling. "I'm starving, is there anything to eat?"

Jane shrugs. "There's a fifth grader we caught this morning, down the hall, first door to the left. Take what you want."

Jack nods, following her instructions. He's rewarded with a screaming eleven year old who continuously demands who he is and what he wants, with the drained face of somebody who has had their soul ripped from their body, even after he tears his stomach out and cuts the kidney free. He lies there for a good five minutes afterwards, a look of sort of dazed horror on his rapidly deteriorating face, until he goes still. Jack just sits against the wall, watching and devouring the organ with a lazy fervor, not giving a single shit. Human lives mean absolutely nothing to him.

***

Back at the apartment, Arrow tosses and turns in her sleep, her mind a whirlwind of horrible images and scenes that don't make any sense. The paper with the operator symbol lays ripped up in the trash can beside the bed. Calum, who is sleeping peacefully next to her, has no idea about it.

In the dream, she's moving through a forest, stepping over roots and ducking under branches of various trees. It's a little past sunset, the sky beginning to turn black, and everything is thrumming with life around her.

Every single tree has the symbol carved into it. She's dizzy, disoriented, stumbling through the foliage in a dark haze, and when she bumps into a hard object she hits the ground immediately. Her hand comes up to her face, and when it drops to her lap it's slick with blood. She doesn't remember where it came or is coming from.

When Arrow looks up at the thing she bumped into, at first it's just a blurry shape. But then her vision clears and she's staring up at Ashton, or at least what was Ashton. He's impaled on a tree branch, the end of it protruding from his chest, fresh blood dripping down his torso and chin. His eyes are wide and blank, blind. Her scream echoes throughout the forest.