A Message to Scott Cawthon: Reimagined

Chapter Seventeen

Lewis didn't fall to the ground when Ryan smashed into him again. Instead, the older man was tripped up and fell to the floor himself. He ignored the stinging sensation in his hand as he pushed himself off of the wet concrete. Before Lewis could make another move, Rhys came from behind and hooked his arms under the younger man's armpits and dragged him backwards. Lewis screeched at him the entire time, kicking his legs and shaking about in the older man's grip. Will stepped forward and tried to pry the knife away from Lewis's iron grip. The wet blood on his hand made it impossible to get a secure hold of the blade without causing injury.

"Hold him still!" Ryan snarled, priming a fist behind his head that was ready to fire. He stared into the white eyes to find any sign of remorse, but only lingering insanity was present.

"What the f***, Ryan!? No!"

"Ryan, stop!"

But the fist was already flying through the air, straight towards Lewis's nose. Will, with lighting fast reflexes, dived forward and practically hugged Ryan's arm before it could move any closer. "What are you doing!?"

"Ryan, think about what you are doing right now!"

"Oh, like he did when he killed my best friend? Or did he not tell you that yet!?"

"You can't blame him for something he didn't do of his own free will!" the Scotsman argued. Ryan scoffed.

"He knew what he was doing," Ryan retorted. "And you can wipe that f***ing smirk off your face, Lewis!" he snapped, shaking his arm free of Will's grip. "How could you have done that!? How could you have killed him!?" He stepped towards Lewis as he said this, and the musician raised an arm in front of him.

"Ryan, I don't think Lewis is 'all there' at the moment," he said quietly, remembering the battle the unstable man seemed to be having to control his own body. He glanced at his youngest friend who seemed to be invested in the unravelling argument.

Ryan also looked at Lewis, his vision throbbing red with fury. The younger man was looking around the two men in front of him with amusement. His clothes and hands stained with blood, his eyes white and glazed, his knife clutched in his grasp. "No, he knew what he was doing," Ryan repeated, somehow a little less sure of his words.

Lewis giggled and looked at him with a mischievous look in his white eyes. He forced himself into a more upright position which Rhys struggled to adapt his stance to. Lewis's shoulders shook and his mouth curled into a grin. Ryan couldn't think of anything to say. With a crazed shout he started to wrestle his way out of the Scotsman's grip. Rhys groaned with exertion as he struggled to restrain his younger friend with unnatural strength. Before long, he slipped free, pushing Rhys backwards as he stepped forward with his knife by his side.

And with a fluent movement, that knife ended up buried in between Will's lower ribs.

But Lewis didn't stop. He kept walking forward with forceful steps until the purple-haired man was leaning against a wall. The musician at first didn't realise what had happened to him. He had simply felt something cold pinch his skin. The pain fully hit him as he looked down to see a red cloud spreading under his shirt. He gasped and stared, uncontrollable panic rising within him. Lewis also stared in sick fascination, as a forgotten memory re-emerged itself. He fought it back down.

Ryan watched and his stomach rolled. Rhys stood dumbfounded. Will looked back up at his youngest friend, who continued to watch the blood spread over the purple-haired man's Twitch sponsor shirt.

With a yell of anger, Ryan lunged towards Lewis and grabbed him from behind, hurling him to the floor. Will found himself sliding down the wall into a sitting position, holding onto the blade that still stuck out from his chest. Rhys ignored the vicious fight that was going on between his two youngest friends and rushed over to the musician, crouching down and pressing his hands against the sides of the knife causing his friend to yelp in pain. The Scotsman's mouth moved in blurred words which were hard to understand. "Don't pull it out!" Rhys repeated again and again. "Don't make it worse!"

Will nodded, only half aware of what he was doing and let Rhys guide his hands around the stab mark. He tried to concentrate on the instructions that he was being given. Keep the pressure up. Don't pull it out. Keep the pressure up. Don't pull it out.

Ryan was slammed into a lamp post which sent a metallic clang clattering through his skull. For his build, Lewis seemed extremely strong; almost supernaturally strong. Before he could recover from his most recent blow, cold fingers clamped around his neck and pulled him away, sending him crashing to the ground. Lewis stood above him, a towering figure of darkness above Ryan, and began to pound his fists into Ryan's head. The first few made his ears ring, and the others made his vision blur. He went from seeing two of Lewis, to three, to four, back to two, and so on.

Rhys, once he was certain that Will would follow his instructions, pulled away from him and rushed towards his two younger friends currently fighting each other with the ferocity of starving animals. He dived towards Lewis as he beat Ryan's face and ended up on top of him. Lewis yelled at him and clutched either side of Rhys head in his hands before repeatedly hitting it against the ground until Rhys stopped struggling. Stopped moving.

Ryan was back up again, with the horrifying realisation that he was the last one standing. He spat out a mouthful of blood and kicked the younger man in the back of the knee which sent him tumbling to the floor. In a grimly made decision, Ryan decided that it was Lewis's turn to suffer. To pay for what he did.

Repeating what had happened to him, Ryan punched with his left hand against Lewis's face, listening to the grunts and groans as each one collided with its target. Lewis's white eyes looked up at Ryan. At first it was pleasure. Then it was anger. Then there was some blue. Then it was fear. And finally, pleading.

Ryan was confused.

Why didn't this make him feel any better?

This was supposed to work! This was supposed to make the pain go away!

His fist slowed its movements and eventfully settled halfway between its resting position and the unstable man's face. Strangely enough, Lewis's face showed little sign of the beating. His nose was bleeding, and a lip had split, but apart from the faint scratch marks on his face there was really no sign of damage. Except for his eyes. His eyes showed torment that could have made the bravest of men cry by looking into them. They quivered as flashes of pale blue attempted to force themselves towards the iris, to constantly be pushed back by the dead and milky darkness that held it captive. His teeth grated together, phasing in and out of a smile of sick pleasure to a look of immense pain. Ryan stared at the younger man beneath him. What the f*** am I doing to him!?

He quickly scrambled away, appalled by what he had done. Here he was trying to fight what he thought was a monster and look at what he was becoming now. Lewis sat up impassively, breathing heavily as he rubbed the side of his face and under his nose, watching the blood droplets on his hands become smudged as he moved his fingers across them. He seemed impressed. Fascinated even. Ryan mentally kicked himself. Rhys was right. He buried his hands in his face. What have I done!?

He had never heard Lewis get up, but neither did anyone else. But Ryan sure as Hell noticed the kick to his forehead that sent him sprawling across the floor. With masochistic pleasure, Lewis smirked and began to howl with laughter. Before Ryan could move away, Lewis sent a single flying fist towards the centre of his chest which struck the older man's ribs with a sickening crunch.

The feeling he felt afterwards wasn't exactly a strange sensation. It was more a lack of sensation. Something that you probably gave no heed to most of your life, until something happened to it. The sudden realisation that it was missing made Ryan feel empty. Lewis grinned above him; his laughter having never stopped. Ryan dragged his heavy feeling arms to his silent chest and shook with fear, feeling nothing but a stabbing pain. Nothing but that one feeling.

From where Will was seated, he could only watch helplessly. Ryan gave him a terrified glance. Will looked back expressionlessly, his mouth hanging open. He didn't know how, but he knew what had happened.

Ryan's heart.

It was barely beating.