Flickers of Faith (Bendy and the Ink Machine)

6- Sinking Memories

"And we know that the Son of God has come and has given us understanding, so that we may know him who is true; and we are in him who is true, in his Son Jesus Christ. He is the true God and eternal life." – 1 John 5:20

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Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

With a soft, almost teasingly sweet plunk!, one of the bathroom faucets leaked drop after drop of water into a sink stained with ink. True, sometimes the water in the plumbing was tainted with dribbles from the ink machine's leaks, but it wasn't today; clear drips fell down alongside the occasional solid black streak that fell from beneath Sammy's mask. He watched them slide and smear their path to the piping, bits of him running down this abyss of a drain to end up who knows where. The sight of it caused a tightening of the man's knuckles, the overhead lights' reflection moving over his glossy form as his grip tensed.

Sammy finally lifted his head to look in the grimy glass above the sink, face to face with a man melting away. If his solidness or lack thereof was a reflection of his emotional stability, then his body was the true mirror. How did he feel? Empty? Lonely? Wrong? He couldn't place it- not at all. It was simply a deep, unwavering discomfort that sought to take over his entire being like an army sweeping over enemy countryside.

...Faith. Yes, it had to do with his faith-

He shook his head in a single but firm swing, drops of his ink splattering in a thin line over the porcelain. He caught a glimpse of a scowl behind his mask, gritting teeth and curling lips. The last time he was this angry, the prophet recalled who he was and how his master would judge; when the woman first arrived and Sammy didn't know what to do about her survival, he trusted the ink demon above his own instincts of stress. For the sake of his soul and their salvation, he recomposed.

The fact he couldn't do so again now only made this moment sting worse.

A hefty sigh got stuck in his throat, escaping his mouth as a groan. Might as well have been a groan of pain. What was he to do? It had been proven so briefly before that Francine shouldn't be by herself- that this was certainly not what his lord had intended for her- and yet Sammy not only allowed her to leave but told her to go. This was his fault. All his fault.

Suddenly the sight of his sickly, inhuman body in the mirror was unbearable, and a closed fist slammed its side at the glass.

A quivering gasp came out and slowly unfolding fingers started to tremble as Sammy saw the face of his lord where his hand had hit, mask peeking from beneath his palm as it began to stain his own reflection. It was amazing how intact his guise was; despite decade upon decade of suffering and peril, it was still recognizable as the visage of the ink demon. No number of scrapes or blows to the wood and paint could take away its glory.

...By his god's grace, it and Sammy were still unbroken.

A second sigh, one of realization, one of remorse as Sammy relaxed his fist, and a flattened palm reverently touched the face of his lord before falling back to his side. Conflict boiled in his hollow chest like a cauldron brewing doubt. The ink demon knew them, watched them, cared for them. The nature of his master once again alluded him, and he suddenly felt so very unsure about his sheep's pursuit of truth.

He witnessed his lips purse behind the hole of his mask before turning away to leave.

Truth...truth...

As he leaned one arm onto the doorway of the bathroom, he knew what the truth was. This whole time, he tried to escape it. He blocked out the memories of Sammy Lawrence to the point that passing his name over and over, day after day, could hold no meaning. It was both the obscuring curse of the studio and his own unwillingness to remember that caused his ignorance. It made sense to be ignorant, after all; to recall what he used to have in reminiscence rather than hope meant to long for what he would never have again. If-...when the demon released them, he could regain his body. He could regain his mind. But he could never once again be who he was when he was.