A Message to Scott Cawthon: Reimagined

Chapter Fourteen

Just as they had agreed, when the Scotsman had got to the front door, Ryan and Will didn't look back. They sprinted off into the darkening night. Rhys listened for a third set of footsteps, but there were only two. The noise inside of the cabin was... nothing. He could hear no noise. Was that a good sign?

As suspected, the door had been left open to invite him inside. He held onto the handle momentarily, feeling its icy touch beneath his fingertips. The air around him was getting colder in general. British weather for you...

With a twist and a gentle push, the door swung open on silent hinges to reveal the chaos inside. In his daze, Rhys had paid no attention to his surroundings as Ryan had led him out of the cabin. Now, he could fully take in the mess. Chairs were thrown over the floor, drinks were spilt over the rug, the black, china owl statue was surrounded in a small pool of congealed red. A tea stain was on the floor near to the door; it was clearly a skid mark. From that spot, Rhys followed a trail of red spots across the multi-purpose room. There were marks on the stairs, some on the corners of the kitchen counters, a few were splattered up the walls. However, the main trail led to the back door. The Scotsman swallowed hard, afraid of what he was about to find.

He gently placed a hand on the door handle and listened to a quiet murmur he could only just make out. The hot tub was on. He looked at the front door, having a brief moment of blistering temptation to join his friends as they ran to the reception. He forced the thought from his mind. Not until I get them back...

Rhys carefully opened the door and looked out.

Carnage looked back at him. So did Lewis.

A pool of blood on the floor. A bloodied knife nearby. A slow flowing waterfall of red on the hot tub's outer wall.

No sign of Baz.

Lewis looked up at the older man. His eyes were blue. Bloodshot, but blue. Just like he had been doing in the kitchen, his knees had been brought up to his chin and he hugged them tightly. His hoodie had dark scarlet marks all over it. His cheeks had scratch marks on them, the red lines having scabbed over. Tears rolled freely down his face. He trembled and sobbed. "Rhys... I..."

The Scotsman stared at his younger friend in horror. Lewis burst out into inconsolable crying. "I'm s-sorry! I'm s-so sorry! I swear, I-I d-didn't mean a-anything..." he buried his face into his knees and let himself weep. Rhys looked back at the hot tub, and then back at Lewis. "I-I didn't w-want to... I s-swear, I d-didn't want t-to... please, y-you have to believe m-me!" his friend sobbed.

Rhys had never seen him like it. And it scared him more than it should have.

"H-he just... he just..."

"What did you do, Lewis?" the Scotsman asked in a serious voice, despite his words trying to stick to his tongue.

"He made me! I swear to G-God... it wasn't m-me!"

"Who is 'he'? What did 'he' make you do?" Rhys crouched down to his young friend's level.

Lewis looked up from his position, as he realised his older friend had changed his stance. He shivered. It wouldn't let him say anything.

"Lewis," Rhys asked slowly, "where is Baz?"

The question brought fresh tears to the unstable man's eyes, and his face filled with remorse. He let out an anguished and heart-broken shout before sobbing louder than he ever had before. Rhys felt a tear roll down his cheek. He knew where the older Ryan was. He knew what fate had befell him. He gazed upon the hot tub, watching the red pool form on the wooden planks below it. Lewis... what have you done?