Final Stage

Chapter 6: Forgotten Voices

Hope and Black Mist entered the orphanage when their visit was done. Hope, now with the knowledge that some of their own died while he was away, comforted the children who were still upset. Mist, however, wanted to be alone.

He went to where his room originally was and shut the door, turning on the lights so it wasn't completely dark. He looked around at his personal instruments and sat down on his desk chair, which he added a while back along with a desk. Sitting back, Black Mist closed his eyes and tried to relax. To help him, he fiddled with his flute, which his tendrils retrieved from the walls, and toyed with the keys.

Something kept tickling the back of his mind, though. He felt the voice trying to reach him, but whatever words the voice was trying to get through were muddled and muffled. Black Mist furrowed his brow and tried to concentrate on making out what the words were when a new voice entered his mind.

"Worthless."

Black Mist shot upright. The voice was high pitched, child-like. He almost recognized the voice, but it was distorted, full of evil and spite, so much so that he couldn't pin who the voice belonged to. Which child would manage to get into his well-guarded mind and sound so spiteful?

"Weak."

A different one. A boy, like the last one. He had a deeper voice, but still young, maybe in his preteen years.

Who could they be?

"Pathetic."

Two voices this time. A boy and a girl. Twins, maybe?

It dawned on Black Mist suddenly that the voices were familiar because he knew them! He started trembling, the grip on his flute tightening. He fished around his mind for their names, but a void replaced where their names should have been.

No, no, no! He couldn't have forgotten them! They were near and dear to him, how could he forget their names!? It was impossible! Tears threatened to spill from his eyes, but he refused to give the voices the satisfaction of seeing him break. Instead, he took a deep breath.

"Shut up," he muttered, and surprisingly, they did.

"That was odd..." the voice muttered, finally able to talk to Mist. "I've never been blocked from you before."

Black Mist shook his head, his shuddering breaths finally calming down. "That was the least of my worries," he groaned.

"Oh? What happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Was it so stressful?"

"Yes, actually." He sighed and tapped below his right eye, feeling it start to itch. "Do you really want to know?"

"Only if you want to talk about it. I wouldn't want you freaking out on me. Again."

"Yeah, yeah. Last time I freaked out on you was your own fault. You left me alone for too long and I was bored." Black Mist put his arm down and collected his thoughts. When he spoke again, his voice was surprisingly calm. "Anyway...I heard the voices of the four kids who died of illness, but I can't remember their names. They were saying some negative things that they've never said before. Weak, pathetic, worthless."

"Any reason why they'd be saying that? And why would they come to haunt you? I would think that those who died that were close to you would return as Shadow Creatures or go into the afterlife, not spend their days haunting you."

"Took the words out of my mouth."

And with that, the conversation was abruptly cut short with a knock on the door. It swung open, and Hope stepped in. 

"You haven't come to breakfast, Mist," he said gently. "What's wrong?"

"Sorry, Papa," Black Mist sighed, leaning back on his chair. "I just wasn't feeling hungry. I'll eat later, I promise."

"Are you sure you don't want to talk about anything?"

Black Mist hesitated. Did he want to tell Hope about the voices? About the children whose names he couldn't remember? No, he didn't want to worry him. He already had enough on his mind. "No, it's nothing. Just promise me one thing."

"Of course."

"Tell me why you disappeared so suddenly when the day's over. Please."

"Of course. I was going to tell you anyway. It involves you."

"Me? How?"

Hope smiled and winked. "Later, Black Mist. For now, come eat."

Black Mist groaned a bit. "Papa, later," he whined. "I'm not hungry."

"No, I'm not letting you starve." He grabbed Mist's thin arm and practically dragged him to the kitchen so he could eat. Black Mist protested some of the way, but he allowed himself to be taken to the kitchen.

~.~.~

He was in the forest now. After eating breakfast at Hope's demand, Black Mist escaped into the forest not too far from the orphanage to hopefully distract himself from the voices of the children he forgot. Lucky for him, too, the voice wasn't there. He didn't want anyone bothering him right now.

Unfortunately, other voices didn't give him the privacy he desired. They weren't saying anything concrete, just giggles and whispers that he couldn't make out. Still, they whispered in the corner of his hearing, tickling the back of his brain and driving him mad.

He sat below a tree, leaning against the solid trunk while he muttered the words "shut up" to the voices of the children he forgot. Miraculously, they quieted. Would it always be this easy? Did he just have to consistently tell them to be quiet even if it hurt him? Well, he supposed so. After all, they weren't like they were before they died. It should stop hurting at some point...

The sky was dark when he returned from the forest, trudging through the grass and passing by the gravestones of the fallen children. The five headstones stood out in the dying light, illuminated by the setting sun. Black Mist sat in front of the graves, staring at them blankly when he noticed something odd.

The names. The five names of the children who died just days before. He hadn't had the heart to visit the graves, which would explain why he never noticed this before. Leaning in close to the four headstones beside Yami's, straining his eyes to read the sudden jumble of words that he could not decipher for the life of him!

Black Mist rubbed his eyes, blinked a few times, but nothing became clear to him. He looked to Yami's grave to see if the same thing was happening, but those letters were clear as day. Panic began to set in. What was happening? Why wasn't he able to remember or read the names on the headstones of the four other kids?

"Worthless."

"Illiterate."

"You can't even remember us. Why did we ever look up to you?"

"You're pathetic!"

"Worthless!"

"Useless!"

A scream ripped from the tormented Number's throat. It was a scream so full of fury, sorrow, and pain that one would think he watched someone close to him tortured and killed, though it may as well have been exactly it. He pulled at his hair, he clawed at his face, all the while not even stopping for a breath.

Someone was tugging on his arm, grabbing at his hands, making him stop, but the pain was all he could feel right now and he didn't want to stop feeling that pain. It was the only thing keeping him anchored to his sanity.

More hands grabbed at him. Were the four children coming to tear him apart? Were they trying to kill him? Would they succeed?

Even as he asked himself those questions in the fogged corner of his right mind, the voices of the aforementioned children sang and chanted in his mind, making fun of him, mocking him. And still, his screams tore into the night sky. He screamed and screamed until something poked into him and knocked him out.