A Message to Scott Cawthon: Reimagined

Chapter Twenty-Two

Lewis didn't reply, he didn't even look up. He simply stared at the soft ground in a daze, continuing his nonsensical muttering. "Lewis?" Rhys asked quietly. "Are you doing okay, buddy? It's been a while since we last spoke." A few seconds passed. "I heard that something has happened, and the doctors need to fix it. So... they asked Ryan and I to see if you want help." Lewis winced at Ryan's name. Although most of his words were still inaudible, one repeated phrase could be heard: "I'm sorry".

Rhys tried a different approach. "Have the doctors helped you much? They've been pretty good to Ryan and me. There's this one doctor called Mac who I'm sure you'd like if you met. He said that your appendix has burst or something? I don't really know what that means but I know it's bad. They can help it though; they can get rid of it." He paused, waiting. Nothing. "Personally, I'm not a fan of a lot of the doctors. I find them a bit grumpy most of the time. They all mean well though. It may seem a bit scary at first, but they're not here to hurt you. They are just here to help." Pause. Nothing. The Scotsman looked at Ryan for some sort of helpful suggestion, but his younger friend shrugged. Rhys stared at him and Ryan sighed before mouthing something.

"Get closer?"

The Scotsman nodded and turned back to his friend in the corner. "I'm going to come a bit closer, Lewis. Is that okay?" He whimpered, but Rhys doubted it was in response to the question. So, the Scotsman edged closer to the corner of the room, purposefully shuffling his feet along the floor so Lewis hopefully wouldn't be surprised. Although there were no measurement lines on the floor, the exact moment Rhys got one meter away from his younger friend, Lewis's head snapped up and stared at him. It was as if a motion detector had tripped an alarm in his head, and he instantly became defensive. He scrambled his legs away from the Scotsman and pushed himself further into the wall's padding, his face similar to that of a deer in headlights.

"No!" he cried, holding up an arm in front of his face. "No! Don't!"

"Hey, hey, hey, it's okay!" Rhys reassured. "I won't come any closer, okay?"

There was something familiar about the Scottish man's voice, but Lewis struggled to remember what it was. He could barely remember anything. Memories would fly away the moment he tried to reach towards them. He violently shook his head and gritted his teeth in a show of aggressiveness.

Rhys held up his empty hands and sat down, remembering the state Lewis had been in when he had found him on the balcony. "I am not going to hurt you, Lewis. I'm here to help."

"That's what they all keep saying," his younger friend slurred.

"Who says that?"

Lewis continued, ignoring the question. "Then they do stuff to me."

"What do they do to you?" Rhys asked, keeping the suspicion from his voice.

The unstable man waited a few moments. "They make it worse." A stabbing sensation flared in his stomach and without thinking, he gripped his hand around the source.

"That looks painful," the Scotsman stated. "What's wrong with it?" he asked, trying to work out if Lewis had actually paid attention to what he said earlier. Lewis didn't respond, he simply observed the dark lines spreading up to his chest, burning and clawing at his insides as they moved. He almost felt like letting the other side of him come back. At least he wouldn't feel anything that way. No, I have to keep control. There was distant laughing within his head. Rhys watched too as a new web of lines expanded outwards. He had no clue what a "burst appendix" looked like, so he guessed this was what it was.

Lewis looked back up with uncertainty in his blue eyes. "Who are you?" he murmured, his voice barely a squeak. The older man felt a pang of sadness hit his chest.