Can't Say

Chapter 33

      The thick, metallic smell of blood filled your nose as you descended the stairs, reminding you of the bodies decorating the floor below. With surprising grace, you danced right over the corpses and dashed out through the back patio door. Your eyes scanned along the exterior walls of the large house, searching for any form of access to the garage roof. Most possible foot- and hand-holds became useless with the overhanging roof's edges. While you might have been able to pull yourself up – just barely – the lack of a firm grip sounded alarms you in head to keep searching.
      An idea sprang into your head, despite the background noises of the maddened army man screaming his head off at your teammates. (Somehow, no one had been shot at.) If there was a ladder, you could get on the roof. The trick was getting it set up without making too much noise.
      There was no ladder available outside of the garage, which wasn't a surprise. Most likely, there would be one inside, though. So, you rushed to the back door, knowing that it had already been opened. That way was already proven safe-
      You stopped dead in your tracks, just before the threshold of the doorway. Your eyes stared down hard at the thin wire strung taut across your path like a black cat to a superstitious person. Whatever that tripwire activated, you didn't want to know - especially after the flash grenade incident. Thank goodness you were graced with the Proxy night vision.
      With the lingering pain of dread settling in your chest, you carefully stepped over the tripwire and entered the garage. Once clear of the trap, you went back to the original task – finding a ladder. 
      Three vehicles of differing types were parked alongside each other. Metal shelves lined the garage walls, holding plenty of various yard equipment, maintenance tools, and knickknacks. In one corner, hiding away, you saw a tall, orange figure – a folding ladder. Dread rose to ambition as you slipped by the vehicles, their dead headlights like the sleeping eyes of metal dragons. You were going to steal their guarded treasure, and the last thing you needed to do was wake them.
      Hands gripping the tall ladder on either side of its folded legs, you awkwardly hoisted it up and carried it along your side. There was just enough room for you to squeeze back across the garage floor without knocking your loot against everything nearby. Your shuffling feet echoed in the eerie silence of the garage's wake. Glass shattered from above on the second floor. Thuds reverberated for a brief moment. Whatever was happening, you needed to get back to it fast.
      You struggled to exit the garage with the awkward load in your grip. In your rush of adrenaline, you did your best to step back over the tripwire, but the ladder knocked against the door frame and caused a jolt in your balance as it bounced. You lost your footing halfway through the door, where the tip of your boot caught the tripwire. As you went tumbling to the ground, the cruelty of life continued to laugh at your misery. Things only got worse.
      The now broken tripwire activated a deafening car alarm to blare its horn over and over again, all the while its headlights flashed in time with the rhythmic honking. You were sure that your cover was blown. Not only that, but when you had fallen, your arm had been caught between the ladder steps. Its twisting form, on impact with the ground, snapped your forearm into a grossly unnatural angle. For the moment, you weren't feeling the inevitable pain that was to come, but you could sense it slowly crawling to your brain for registry. You repeatedly cursed out, knowing that no one could hear you above that awful car alarm. Gently, though hurriedly, you did your best to slip your broken arm from its woven position through the ladder. The small, sharp pains of any slight movement sent fire to your brain. You fought it off as best you could, knowing that the mission was nowhere near over.
      Using your only good arm, you clumsily carried the ladder to the garage wall and managed to unfold it with the shoulder of your broken arm. The top of the ladder reached just short of the overhanging roof. 
      First, however, you needed to do something about your arm. All you could really do was secure it against your body so it wouldn't catch on anything. There was no time to find a splint. You unlatched one of the longer belts and the two short belts from your jacket. The two short belts were wrapped around both ends of your broken forearm. The long belt was looped through the smaller ones and across your chest like a sling. It was an awful sling, but it would have to do.
      The next difficult step was to climb the ladder and balance yourself enough to get atop of the roof. There wasn't really a solid spot for you to set the ladder, so it had a wiggle to it with each step you climbed. Your good arm did all the work; your broken arm simply cried out in throbbing pain as it gradually swelled underneath your coat sleeve. Even your fingers tingled with the intense blood pressure, though they refused to be of any use to you. It was instinct to clench your jaw at the pain, though it provided little benefit, and fought through. The ladder wobbled, your body tensed, and you took another step higher.
      Eventually, you did manage to get to the top step, despite the warning sticker in large font. With one hand flat on the roof shingles, you dug your fingers into its grit and pulled yourself forward onto the shoulder of your better half. Slowly, and with more strain that you anticipated, you lifted your hips up and swung a leg over to join your upper body. Then, you kicked off of the uncertain ladder and up the slant of the roof, hugging your broken arm against your body as best you could. It didn't go so well, in terms of pain, but you didn't continue to roll right off the garage roof. Its shallow slant was easy to maneuver.
      As the deafening blares of the car alarm battled against the screaming of the lunatic army man, you stole a glance to the front of the house where you had last seen the Slenderman. He was still there; watching with his usual mysterious air about him. You stood up, making sure to keep your footing on the slanted surface, and gazed out to your master with pleading eyes. It would be no good to wave frantically at him. Either he would translate the signal into a reassuring wave, or your luck would continue to go south and the broken army man nearby would happen to notice you. So, you stared at Slenderman for several long moments, hoping he would detect the anxious and desperate demeanor in your distant form.
      Four new gunshots rip you back to the situation at hand. Your head whipped toward the windows of the guest bedroom, where you see the army man's back facing you. Beyond him, Hoodie and Toby were hunched forward, clutching their fresh, but not fatal bullet wounds. Both seemed to take a hit in the shoulder or arm. Of course, Toby didn't seem to be in pain, for obvious reasons, but he still held pressure to his wound, hoping to reduce the bleeding. Masky was somewhere on the floor, beyond your field of view through the windows.
      You couldn't wait any longer. Now was the time to act while you had the advantage.
      Pushing your coat skirt aside, you reached to your hip and pulled out the pistol from its holster. Your careful steps brought you closer to the window directly between your target and your gun barrel. You stopped a short few feet from the glass pane, anticipating a backlash of glass fragments, and aimed the pistol with surprisingly steady hands. Toby and Hoodie noticed you, quickly understanding your plans, and continued to hold the opponent's attention – not that it was a difficult task.
      For some reason, though the crazed man continued to make threats that he would fire again with his aimed gun, he never followed through with it. You suspected him to be bluffing; he was out of ammo.
      You centered the pistol to the back of your enemy's head, knowing that he was packing bullet armor. Then, without further hesitation, you fired a bullet into his skull. The glass shattered upon impact. The bullet tore straight through flesh and bone. A splash of blood reverberated the damage, followed by heavy gushing of more crimson fluids. The army man, though surely dead, stood for a short while longer as the remaining electrical impulses sent by his brain forced his finger to pulled the trigger over and over; it only clicked with empty threats. His legs shook violently before the large body finally give in to its ultimate end and collapsed to the floor. Still, you trained your pistol on his body, waiting for it to move again. It never did.
      Only when you felt the stares of your teammates did you lower your gun. Masky had raised himself onto his elbows, Hoodie and Toby were frozen in aw and relief. The car alarm rhythmically cried out into the night, no longer opposed by the sounds of gunfire and screaming. Compared to you, those three were veterans of Proxyhood, yet they hadn't faced such a challenge until tonight. Still, you couldn't tell if the men were silently thanking you or scolding you for your actions; you hoped for the former.
      Hoodie made the first move, going to Masky to help him to his feet. Masky woozily got up with his comrade's aid. Toby went to the window in an effort to open it for you, but found it to be nailed shut. The two of you had briefly forgotten what the blueprint notes had said. The goggled man motioned for you to back up as he wielded one of his hatchets. You know what he planned to do, and thus followed his request. Toby began dismantling the window with little trouble. He cleared away the glass, then hacked off their now barren frames. It wasn't a roomy opening, but it was enough. Toby held out his hand to you, his gratefulness of your earlier actions much more apparent to you. This, of course, gave your chest a small shock. 
      You hadn't always gotten away with acting on your own – not with something so dangerous as that – which usually ended with painful punishments. Here, though, your teammates were happy with your individual decision. It was, to say the least, refreshing.
      So, you took his hand, and with Toby's help, climbed into the room to join the team. Toby immediately gave you a firm pat on the shoulder, making eye contact to ensure his sincerity. The no talking rule was still in effect, so this was all anyone could do at the moment. Masky and Hoodie gave their share of thanks, as well. 
      Here, the four of you took the time to administer first aid on each other. The remaining humans – and two dogs – were locked away in the master bedroom. There was no doubt about this, seeing as the rest of the house had been cleared out.
      Masky, Toby, and Hoodie were all treated to makeshift gauze pads and bandages using the clothes provided by the corpse in the room. He wouldn't be needed his clothes anymore. Your arm was splinted and wrapped into a sling. This took the pressure off of your fracture tremendously. Everyone was in pain. Everyone was ready to get this mission over with. Things weren't going in your favor.
      The only thing stopping you from moving forward was the solid lock and door to the master bedroom. Somehow, your team had to get through that – or drive the humans out.
      Toby pulled out a small cigarette lighter with a twinkle in his eyes. Masky, Hoodie, and yourself exchanged glances, not seeing an easier option, then gave Toby the confirmation he needed to get started. Grabbing the remainder of the corpse's shredded jacket, Toby rushed out of the room and began his work to set fire under the master bedroom door. Hoodie began giving orders, signaling for you and Masky to hide down the hallway toward the bedrooms. He and Toby would cover the guest bedroom and the hallways corner to the right of the stairs. This way, when the inhabitants of the master bedroom rushed out, your team could cover both directions and gun everyone down.
      With no reason to argue, you and Masky rushed down the hall, passing by Toby as he began flicking the lighter, and took your places around the nearest two corners to take cover.
      Taking the corner that formed the master bedroom's exterior, it wasn't long before you began to hear the panicking voices from within. The pair of dogs accompanied their humans, growling and whining with matched anxiety. There were no windows in the master bedroom. Its adjoined bathroom had only two half-sized windows; too small for a human to fit through. If the smoke from Toby's fire did as planned, then the inhabitants of the master bedroom would have to retreat through the door. Things finally seemed like they were going your way.
      “We have to get out,” you heard a woman plead with her group. Despite the car alarm ceaselessly filling the air, it was much less potent to your ears from further across the house.
      “They're probably waiting right outside the door,” a man growled. “We're fucked either way!”
      “I'm not going out like this. I'm not dying by their hands – by its hands!” Another man's desperate voice agreed with the woman.
      “This is all your fault, anyway!” Yet another man added his thoughts, much more aggressive. “You brought him to my family and now we're caught in the middle of this-this slaughter.”
      “I'm not the only one!” The accused defended. “Bradford brought it here, too!”
      “Yeah, and now he's dead! We're all gonna end up just like him!” The sounds of bodies hit the floor as the arguing men began to fight. The dogs began to bark ferociously, confused and fueled by their master's own chaotic energy.
      A younger female cried out, “Daddy, stop!” But she went unheard by her allies.
      The humans were turning against each other. Maybe they would take out themselves. Surely, they wouldn't just hole up in the bedroom and suffocate.
      One of the men let out a blood-curdling scream as the dogs grew more aggressive to the situation beyond the wall. “Gyah! Get your dogs off me! Oh, God!”
      “Fuck you, Jim! Maybe if you die, it will leave us alone! Fuck you!” The father, winded from the fight, emptied his lungs with betrayal to Jim.
      “Jesus Christ, Randall. Call them off! We're all stuck with this problem now!” The man sitting on the sidelines tried to persuade the dogs' master, but it was too late. 
      Jim's screams increased to throat-shredding volumes. The dogs tore him apart in order to defend their owner. They were only doing their job. Soon, Jim's desperate cries trickled down to deathly silence. Once again, the only sound to be heard was the annoying car alarm, muffled by the few walls. You began to hear whimpering from the girl, then scolding from the mother. “Randall, you idiot,” she fought against her own sobbing. “This is what it wants!”
      “Exactly,” Randall's shaky voice forsook his words of confidence. “It wanted Jim. It never wanted us. Now that Jim and Bradford are gone, we're free!”
      “We're not free, Randall,” his wife tried to get through to her husband. “We're too involved.” She broke into a fit of coughs, most likely from the smoke.
      Shuffling could be heard from within the bedroom. Shortly after, a round of gasps reacted to whatever Randall had done. “I had a feeling it might come to this,” he calmly stated.
      “Now hold on a minute.”
      “There's got to be some other way.”
      “There is another way,” Randall held his newly relaxed tone, a large contrast from the earlier fiasco. “We could walk out of that door right now and be killed by its Proxies. We could die on its terms.” He paused. “Or, we could die on our terms. We could finally have control again.”
      Your mind raced to list the possibilities of what Randall had planned. Some sort of suicide pills or drink? It couldn't have been a gun. The others wouldn't have reacted so knowingly. This was an ultimatum. This was something they all could recognize as one thing.
      “We could take them out with us.” Randall's words weighed heavy on your ears. How much time did you have before they decided?
      You turned your wide eyes to Masky, panic clear on your half-masked face. Silently, you mouthed the word 'bomb' to him, hoping he understood.
      “Okay,” the wife agreed, muffling her daughter's disagreeing cries with a tight hug. “Let's do it your way.”
      Masky grabbed a handful of your coat and pulled you along as he dashed back to the guest bedroom with you in tow. As soon as he reached Hoodie at the doorway, he didn't hesitate to speak out, “Bomb!” Hoodie cursed under his breath. Toby caught everyone's attention. He moved aside for you to see Hailey waving everyone into the hallway's closet.
      No one questioned the girl as they followed her into the small room. Just as the door clicked shut, you swore you heard an explosion, but it was cut short and lost to the sounds of frantic horses whinnying and stamping the ground. Familiar smells of the beginning of your mission filled your nose. A faint, orange light glowed from reflections into the only window available to the room.
      “The storage room?” You breathed out in relief. Hailey had transported your team to the barn. The house had exploded and erupted into flames.
      Hailey opened the room door, peeking out toward the burning house, “It's somewhat of a closet. Not quite your traditional house closet, but enough.” She flashed a nervous glance your way, subconsciously scratching at the rotting skin of her hands, then stepped out of the storage room toward something.
      You and your team followed Hailey out, quickly seeing Slenderman standing in the main isle of the barn. Hailey continued past him, working to let the frantic horses out of their stalls. Not you, nor your fellow Proxies, knew how to react seeing your master after such a devastating mission. As far as any of you were concerned, the mission was a failure. You couldn't complete it without Hailey's help. If she hadn't shown, things would be, in a way, much worse.
      Once the last of the horses were freed and escaped the barn, Slenderman finally began to speak, but not to his Proxies. “Thank you for your assistance, Hailey. I apologize for the abrupt request. You may leave whenever you like, I can handle things from here.”
      With a shy nod, Hailey twiddled her thumbs and walked back into the storage room, closing the door behind her.
      “We should be going,” Slenderman reached out his tendrils to his Proxies. You flinched, expecting to be choked, but only felt a gentle touch on your shoulder before being slender-walked to the mansion's medical room.
      With professional ease, your master began working simultaneously on all four Proxies and their battle wounds. You were given pain medication and antibiotics. Bullets and debris fragments were removed from your teammates. Burns were oiled and bandaged. Your arm was aligned and placed in a proper splint and sling. All the while, Slenderman ignored the pained grunts and groans of his Proxies as he spoke. “Today's mission was, in short, a mistake. I had grown too confident of your capabilities. You were outmatched and left vulnerable to unknown dangers. I should have had The Gentleman scope out the entirety of the house. I should have accounted for the probability that they would use explosives of that caliber – that they would use explosives at all. They possessed the personnel with such savvy.”
      Was he apologizing for the mission? Your master, the unforgiving, strict, and punishing being that you knew, was taking the blame for the mission's turnout. Sure, he saw reason to accidents, but with all the mistakes made tonight, you and your teammates equally felt to blame. It was as though Slenderman had an underlying guilt. Had he made a mistake – a miscalculation? He admitted to it, but somehow your mind couldn't wrap around the reality.
      This being, so calm, collected, and precise, had lapsed when it was most important.
      You couldn't help but train your eyes on Slenderman's form, staring at him with mute disbelief.
      Soon, your master concluded his monologue, along with treating his Proxies to medical attention. “Rest now,” he touched a tendril to each of your foreheads. No one objected to his command, welcoming the ease of sleep.