Bury a Friend | Hemlock Grove |

Chapter 24 | Mind Games Pt. 1 |

Putting out a double feature. Part 2 should be up tomorrow!

The week following the latest death feels sadder and more desperate than previous ones. It was the straw that broke the camels back, too much death at once. Everyone could feel the weight it had put on the town. There was no dismissing it or looking away. That's not to say they didn't try.

Roman and Peter especially feel that weight. They are disappointed in themselves more than anything. They had tried everything, but nothing seemed to work. Destiny had given them to the next month at the latest, they were running out of time. Something had to be done.

They always excuse themselves halfway through lunch for a smoke break and hang out in the stairwell way past the bell ringing. The stairwell is more often silent than not. They know what needs to be done, it's figuring out how to it that's the problem.

"How are we going to get her to come?" Roman asks, pulling his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket.

"We'll just ask," Peter holds out his hand for one which Roman gladly shares.

"Yeah," he scoffs, "Because that's worked so well so far."

"She seems pretty upset about it this time," he inhales.

"Emma thinks they used to be friends."

"Were they?"

"No," Roman shakes his head. "I was her only friend until high school." Peter can't think of any way to respond to that. "Let me handle it."

"You?"

"I know her mind better than she does. I can take care of it," Roman promises.

"Don't do anything stupid," Peter warns him.

"No, nothing stupid. Just very strong a suggestion."

"You're kidding right?" Roman stares up blankly at him. He's not. "You really don't have feelings, do you? Maybe you should talk to a therapist about this."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!"

"It means that whether or not you remember it, she used to be your friend. Your only friend. I know you have the memory and emotional capacity of a fucking goldfish, but could you not be an asshole for one day?"

"Peter!" Roman calls up to the boy as he climbs the stairs. He stands at the bottom. "We have one chance to do this. One more chance, then that's it. I'm not fucking around, if this doesn't go right we are fucked. Do you hear me?"

"Oh, fuck you," Peter scoffs and leaves the stairwell. Roman remains there finishing his cigarette well into next period.

.....

The nightmares have only seemed to grown worse since the last time she took the potion. To top that off, her sleeping pill stash is growing dangerously low. Emma had been trying to become less reliant on sleeping aids, but the exhaustion had begun to bubble over. She tosses and turns even after drinking a fourth of a bottle of liquor.

There's a craving in the back of her throat to smoke a cigarette, but she refuses to go outside on the porch. Slipping in and out of lucidity is the only form rest she's managed for a few days. Those short moments of rest are filled with the smell of dirt or the silence of a room that is only interrupted by two bodies breathing.

She gives up on the rest of the night when she awakes with the distinct feeling of a hand gripping her jaw. The sun comes up slowly, taking its sweet time illuminating the world. The window radiates the winter chill from outside and Emma's only escape route is deeper into the blankets.