Photographic Memory

Come Back to Me

More confident than ever, Joseph entered the River Park, swaying his sword at nothing, toying with it. An orange tone painted the sky above, indicating the very few first beams of sunlight. No matter how early it was, the photographer had set his mind to win this game and have his loved one be proud. Surely they were on different sides, but they were always pleased with each other's success, even if it meant being affected by it. Today, however, the Frenchman refused to be merciful.

Having a dream witch and a photographer on the opposite team would be tricky for the survivors. Not to mention how joyful he felt for all the acceptance he received from his colleagues the day before. They made him feel upbeat, and now he was ready for a challenge. With such a dangerous mix, Joseph knew they were capable of winning.

He wasn't very aware of who he was playing against. He hadn't paid much attention to anyone besides Aesop in the lobby. That wasn't about to ruin his conviction, however. Bring on a magician, a mercenary, a forward even, they would regret it anyhow.

The sirens signaled the hunt to start, and the competitors ran across the map. Joseph didn't waste time to enter the camera world.

The photographer was on fire. He popped out of nowhere constantly, terror-shocking at least four of his eight opponents. Part of him knew it was on them for doing a poor job at dispersing, but he smiled delightfully anyway.

Despite the amateur survivor performance, another detail was making him suspicious. Quite some time had passed, but no other survivors were injured if not by his sword. Was someone really kiting Yidhra for that long?

He figured if the match was already granted, he might as well check in on the witches' servants to see if everything was going smoothly.

It took a while to find his teammate, so much so that the photographer's victims had gotten up by then. The little girl looked like she was on stand-by with her head down. Joseph thought the witch might be controlling some other tiny demon, but when he did, the servant straighten up her posture.

"Why aren't you chasing anyone?" He asked silently.

She stood there, quiet. A weird factor, since every hunter knew the servants were everything but quiet at the manor.

"You can cover the other side of the map. I have some progress here already."

Silence.

He tried to get her attention one last time. "Are you listening?"

She finally began to walk, but in his direction instead. Joseph felt like those pitch-black eyes were sucking out his soul. When did he start to fear other hunters?

It all happened so fast, yet he saw it like it was in slow motion. She rose the pickaxe, struggling with its weight. Joseph froze in horror. When he noticed the tool rushing in his direction, he took a trembled step back, hoping he could dodge it.

He wasn't far enough. It craved in between his clavicle and his shoulder blade and buried itself in there, splurting blood everywhere. He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out. It felt like his throat was tightening on its own, like he was being straggled and now no one could hear him.

Joseph fell back, and the tool went with him. It was stuck. He cried in pain, gagging on his hiccups. Breathing started to get difficult. He felt a weight on his lungs. When he opened his eyes he could barely see the servant's blurred image pressing down his chest, grabbing the pickaxe and pulling with force. One, two, three times she pulled until his bones gave out. He did too, resting his head to the side, hoping the pain would be over soon.

Something moved a few meters away, or maybe someone. He couldn't quite make it out, it was just a gray blur in the distance. He put all the mental energy he had on focusing his vision. He moved so fast, stumbling across the bridge. The pain of the last stab didn't compare to the heartbreak that was the sight of his love running away when he needed the most.

His eyes were telling him lies. That had to be it. The embalmer moved rapidly as far as he could from the scene. He needed to help him but interrupting a... cold-blooded murder was suicide! He looked around for a place to hide, praying to God his plan would work, even if he had no faith.

He got to a corner and turned his makeup kit upside down so all the materials would fell. He worked with his eyes closed, trying to remember that man's every detail. His hair, so light you could barely consider as blond; his soft clear skin; his perfect nose; that damned beautiful mouth he missed even though he had kissed it the day before. He just wanted to drown in those blue ocean eyes again.

Nervousness got the best of his and his brush dropped to the ground.

Joseph bent down smiling at himself. When he came back up, he was holding the brush in his hand. Dust flew around the moment he extended his arm and waited for Aesop to grab it.

He couldn't lose him.

He finished embalming him as fast as he could and opened his watery eyes. Any moment now...

Aesop cried for longer than he wanted to, and yet his embalmed body wouldn't move.

"Please...!" He begged. His hands held the cheeks as he kissed the cold, lifeless lips. "Please! Come back to me!"

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Don't worry, I have the next chapter ready. I just need to edit it. c: