BirdyBoiWonder

ชิ้นChîn: Chapter 16. Divinity dwelleth within

Added 2025-04-07 10:24:10 +0000 UTC

Nora sits outside of her house on the steps in front of the door, her eyes damp and red from crying. Dog Hyphae sits beside her.

Hyphae: "I should have been here."

Nora: "It's not your fault, Hyphae. He should have told us—"

Basit walks up towards them as they talk, her arm still not quite as it was.

Hyphae, low: "Hello, Basit."

Basit: "What happened?"

Nora looks up to her, fresh tears falling.

As she tells her, Basit stares in angry disbelief.

Nora looks back down.

Nora: "I'm so sorry, Basit…"

Hyphae: "We are preparing the body for a memorial."

Basit tenses, shaking, veins visible, a split forming from the corner of her mouth up her left cheek, a few sharp teeth visible behind the split before it reforms again.

Basit: "Whe—n—"

She grits her teeth, her eyes water, and she darts past them and into Nora's house.

She walks into the basement, seeing the large stain of blood coating the floor.

Charlie stands in front of his kitchenette at the open window. The room behind him is unkempt. He holds the 12th finger piece in his hand. Crow Hyphae sits in the window frame in front of him.

Hyphae: "I'm sorry, Charlie."

Charlie's hand shakes as he grips the pieces and turns away from the window. Hyphae flies off, and Charlie picks up a bottle.

Basit steps up to the desk, gripping her fists. She spots the string on top of the note. She grabs them both, picks them up, and opens the note:

'Tu es mon cœur. Je t’aime, Bones. —Tangles'

{You are my heart. I love you, Bones.}

Basit stares down at it and clenches her jaw, tears breaking through and flowing down her cheek. She drops to her knees and sobs, gripping the strings to her chest.

Nora stands against the wall on the basement steps, with a disturbed and grieving expression, she watches a human Hyphae scrub the blood from the floor.

Hyphae: "Do you want me to clean the rest of the basement?"

Nora: "No, Hyphae. Leave his things."

Hyphae: "Including the webs?"

Nora silently nods.

Hyphae goes back to scrubbing.

Nora, tearing up: "What do we do now? He was our only hope of stopping this. If we could even find someone to help, would that be enough? Has anything we've done been enough?! Have we just been delaying the inevitable?!"

She takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself.

Nora: "Sorry, Hyphae."

Hyphae flat: "There is no need for an apology."

Nora: "How's Charlie holding up? And Basit?"

Hyphae: "We have not seen Charlie leave his apartment for forty-two hours. Basit is avoiding us, but her routine is mostly the same. There is nothing else to note."

Nora nods: "Try to keep an eye on her. I'm going to go check on Charlie."

She lifts from the wall and walks up the stairs.

Charlie's room is messy and unkempt, with a chair from his dining room table on its back on the floor. The bed is unmade, the trash can and sink are full. A few clothes and bits of trash, including an empty bottle or two, are left in random locations. Knocking on the door.

Nora: "Charlie?"

Charlie's unconscious face rests against the toilet seat lid, a bit of vomit on its edge.

She knocks again, louder, and Charlie jerks up. He puts a hand to his mouth and wipes off the bile and drool. His hair is unkempt, his bun sagging, his locks loose and plastered onto his face.

He grabs some toilet paper and wipes off his mouth as he stands, uneasy.

Nora waits at his door, antsy and worried. She begins knocking again, more insistent.

Charlie snatches open the door, holding his hand to his ear with a pained expression.

Charlie: "Fuck—I heard you!"

Nora stares at him, a mix of disappointment and concern.

Nora: "Are you drunk?"

Charlie: "Not yet."

Charlie steps away from the door and picks up a bottle from his dining room table. He holds it up to see the small amount of liquor left inside.

Nora, frustrated consern: "Really, Charlie? After everything I've done to help you?"

Charlie grimaces at her words.

Charlie turns, sneering: "Well, sorry I'm such a fucking disappointment!"

Nora: "That's not what I meant—"

Charlie angry: "Why did you even try then? If I'm such a helpless fuck up, then why did you ever bother?!"

Nora, pained and upset: "That's not what I meant! I just don't know what to do, Charlie! I've done everything I can, and it's still not enough!"

Charlie drops into one of the dining table chairs.

Charlie: "Exactly…"

Nora increasingly exasperated: "I want to help you, Charlie! I just—I don't know how!"

She tears up: "Charlie, you need help!"

Charlie looks down with a weak scowl, tearing up.

Charlie: "Leave…"

Nora steps closer: "Charlie, please—"

Charlie: "Go away!"

Nora hesitates, lowers her gaze, and then turns to leave. She shuts the door behind herself, her face twisted in sorrow and guilt.

Charlie sits in silence for a moment, the bottle still in hand. He throws it. The bottle shatters against the wall, and he drops his face into his hands.

Basit walks down the street, her gaze low, shoulders squared, and face scowling.

A woman stands outside a bar talking with a few others. She spots Basit and runs up to her.

Woman: "Hey!"

Basit turns, and the woman leans away when she sees her scowl.

Woman: "I—um, sorry—I just wanted to ask if your friend is okay?"

Basit's scowl softens: "My friend?"

Woman: "The man in the bar—" She points to her own face "—tattoos across his face. Haven't I seen you with him?"

Basit looks up and walks past her to the bar.

Basit enters the cheap dive bar and looks around. She spots Charlie at the bar, head down on the counter.

Basit walks over to stand next to him.

Basit stern: "Charlie."

Charlie lifts his head, wobbling slightly, and opens his eyes.

Charlie: "Wha—?"

Basit: "What are you doing?"

Charlie lowers his head again, face pointed to the glass in his left hand.

Charlie: "Waitin' fer this asshole to give me another my drink."

Basit: "You're probably cut off."

Charlie: "Asshole."

Basit: "Come on, let's get you home."

Charlie: "Nooope~ There es nothin' to drink en my o—partment. An all the storeses closed."

Basit: "That's probably for the best, come on."

Charlie ignores her and fidgets with the glass, rolling it back and forth on its side with his finger. It slips and rolls across the counter, falling behind it with a shattering crash.

Charlie: "Oops."

Basit stares at him, sighs, and sits beside him.

Later in the evening, Basit and Charlie are still at the same spot. Charlie is now sitting up.

Basit: "Feeling better?"

Charlie groggy: "I'm more sober now. So no… I don't."

Basit: "Charlie—I know grief is hard to deal with,' Deep pained expression, "trust me—"

Charlie rubs his head: "I wish grief was my only issue."

Basit: "What do you mean?"

Charlie looks at her: "Look at me! Everything is fucked. My life is fucked! Everyone is dying around me, and I'm too fucking useless to do anything about it!"

Basit goes to speak, but he keeps going.

Charlie, getting louder: "I'm a disappointment to everyone, including myself. My existence is a fucking joke. All I want to do is die. I always feel like I'm going to die—I'm always dying—" he shouts "—and yet—I'm fucking immortal!"

The passing bartender gives him a confused side glance and keeps going.

Charlie lowers his head: "It should have been me… I should have been the one to die, it's my fault-'

Basit: "Charlie—No—"

Charlie's voice cracks: "I even fucked it up with Kate."

His head drops down into his arms, and Basit empathetically stares at him.

Charlie: "Nothing will ever get better. I will never get better."

His volume lowers to a whiny mutter.

Charlie: "Everyone will die and I'll just stay a living pile of broken shit."

Basit: "You can't give up, Charlie."

Charlie lifts his head again.

Charlie: "Why not? Everyone else has."

Basit: "No one's giving up on you—"

Charlie: "Yes, they have. Kate has, Nora has, Conner never even believed in me in the first place."

She grits her teeth.

Charlie lowers his head again, just above his arms.

Charlie: "I'm not strong enough, Basit. I know I'm not. I can't… I just can't do it."

Basit looks away and crosses her arms, frustrated.

They sit in silence.

Basit stern: "You're right."

Charlie turns his head in her direction.

Basit: "You are weak."

Charlie grimaces, his head lowering as she speaks.

Basit: "You're too weak to pick yourself up. You're too weak to get over your pain. You're too weak to fight your battles. You can't fix yourself. You will never fix yourself."

Charlie's head hangs low, a few tears stream from his eyes.

Basit: "And you know what?"

Basit aggressively grabs him by the collar and pulls him up to her face, gritting her teeth and speaking sternly.

Basit: "So the fuck is everyone else."

Charlie stares as she speaks, her face still stern but not angry.

Basit: "No one can do that, Charlie. No one recovers all on their own." She lets go "Patience, resources, a support system—fucking medication if you need it—that is the strength everyone needs to recover—from anything."

Charlie: "But you—"

Basit, loud: "I had Conner! …And Nora."

She looks away and takes a deep, sad sigh.

Basit speaks low: "I would never be the woman I am today if I was still all alone in that fucking bunker."

Basit: "You don't deserve this, Charlie. It's not your fault this is happening. It's not your fault you're in pain. That's why you shouldn't give up on yourself. Recovery isn't easy—but it's possible."

Charlie, low tone: "What do I do?"

Basit looks over to him, softer but still stern.

Basit: "You keep trying."

Basit opens Charlie's apartment door and helps him inside and to his bed. He lays his head down on a pillow. She leaves, Charlie sniffing and wiping his eyes, eventually falling asleep.

Distorted voice: "You should be dead."

Charlie jerks up and sees the killer standing at the end of his bed.

Killer, distorted: "You shouldn't have run from me."

Charlie jumps up from his bed and rushes for his apartment door, He runs out of it—the decrepit building—and into the woods.

"I wouldn't have needed them—"

He continues to run and looks back at the killer in the distance, chasing him. A darkness envelopes him. He runs through the tunnel.

"—If you would have just died!"

Charlie screams: "STOP!"

He drops to the ground, hands on his head, sobbing. He falls to his side and curls up as everything goes dark.

He whimpers: "Please… stop…"

"Hey."

Younger, banded, Charlie's head darts up, dazed, and in a park. A younger Daniel stands in front of him, looking down. He looks panicked and winded. His cross necklace hangs from his neck.

Daniel: "Have you seen some stupid punks with a cat around?"

Charlie's clothes are dirty and ragged, his hair is messy, and he's covered in a thin layer of dirt and grime.

Charlie blinks: "Uh—no…"

Daniel: "Fuck—Thanks anyway, man."

Charlie sits up and rubs his head, gaining some lucidity. He watches Daniel walk away.

Charlie: "H-Hey!"

Charlie stands, and Daniel looks back.

Charlie, still dazed: "What—what are you looking for, again?"

Daniel, desperation: "My cat. Can you help me find her?"

Charlie: "Uh—sure."

He follows Daniel.

A few late teenagers stand together laughing and kicking a lidded trash can back and forth. The third one kicks it back hard. A small, scared meow echoes from the can. The next teen catches it with their foot to stop it rolling. The mewing continues. They reel their foot back to kick it hard, but before they can, Daniel pushes them down to the ground.

Daniel shouts: "The fuck is wrong with you?!"

The second teen rushes up and punches Daniel in the jaw. Charlie stands there watching them in confused shock. The third runs for Daniel. Charlie rushes at him, pushing him over, then pausing in confused uncertainty. The first teen punches Charlie in the nose, causing Charlie to grab his face and fall to the ground. The other two try to restrain and hit Daniel.

Spotting Charlie on the ground, Daniel shouts, his upper body erupting into flames.

Daniel: "Fuck off!"

The two let go of him and yelp, patting themself down in fear of the fire. The three teens flee. Charlie sits up, nose bloody and lip cut. He watches Daniel rush for the trash can and rip the lid off. He reaches inside, picking up a small, not quite fully grown, kitten. Daniel holds the cat to his chest. The cat's fur is black and ragged with grime and dirt. A fresh chunk is missing from its ear, and its leg hangs, a gash in its thigh. The cat's scared mewing slows, and it leans into Daniel's chest, beginning to purr. Daniel's flames lower and then fade.

Charlie steps up to him and looks down at Daniel and the cat.

Charlie: "Are they okay?"

Daniel: "I'm not sure—but she's safe now."

Daniel looks down at the kitten.

Daniel: "I'm so sorry, Ember, this is my fault. I should have watched over you—"

Charlie: "It's not your fault they're assholes."

Daniel smiles at the cat.

Charlie sees the scrape on Daniel's jaw, a small amount of blood forming.

Charlie: "You're bleeding—"

Daniel: "I'll be fine."

Charlie: "But—"

Daniel looks up: "Ember is safe, I'll be fine. Besides, what about you? You got way more fucked up, and it's not even your cat."

Charlie reaches up to his lip, touches it, and winces.

Charlie: "So? I mean—she didn't deserve that shit."

Daniel: "You're right."

Daniel looks down at Ember.

Daniel: "You didn't deserve it."

Charlie smiles at them and Daniel looks up to him.

Daniel: "You didn't deserve it."

Charlie jerks awake. He stares up at his ceiling, his face twists into sorrow, and he rolls over, covering his face and sobbing.

Evening

Charlie, still unkempt, walks down the street. He steps up to Daniel's old trailer, staring up at it with a pained look. He sits on the steps and looks over, seeing the overturned metal bowl. He pulls out a small can of cat food, pulls it open, then grabs the bowl, dumps it inside, and sets it back down.

Charlie: "Pst pst pst. Ember!"

Charlie sits there for a while, waiting. He looks down, disappointed. Tears begin to well up in his eyes.

Charlie: "I miss you, Daniel."

Charlie goes to wipe his eyes, and a furry black body rubs against his side. Charlie looks down, his face perking up as he pets the cat.

Charlie: "Hey, Ember. Long time no see, buddy."

Ember steps over to the food, wolfing it down and purring as Charlie pets her.

A half-full bottle of alcohol is tossed into a trash bag full of junk. Charlie wraps up the bag, tying it off.

Charlie walks to the apartment dumpsters and tosses the bag in.

Night

Charlie sits on his couch with the TV on, curled up, pale, sweating, and shaking.

A rubber boot steps on the ground, making a slight creak, and Charlie jerks up. Seeing nothing, he lies back down and pulls a cushion over his head.

Charlie: "Stop…"

Charlie's head under the pillow in the darkness, he opens his eyes and sees Daniel's lifeless and butchered body lying on the basement floor beside him. Charlie reels up and out from under the cushion. He cries out in a mix of frustration, fear, and anger. He gets up and paces around the apartment, pouring sweat.

Charlie: "I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm safe. I'm safe. I—"'

The killer steps up behind him. Charlie's breath picks up. He doesn't look, his face twists to fearful sobs.

Charlie covers his face.

Charlie: "I'm safe. I'm safe… I'm… safe… I'm…"

He drops to his knees, younger, banded, sitting in the darkness, sobbing.

Charlie: "I'm… dying…. I'm dying. I—"

He looks up: "I—"

The killer in the distance, nearing him, the voice a faint echo.

"Chîn."

He peers around the darkness through tears, searching.

Charlie: "I'm…"

He crawls through the darkness, his hand lands on something, and a faint outline of his bed forms under his hand. He feels his way around it, still shaking, scared, and occasionally repeating "I'm…"

His hand lands on his bedside table. He pulls the drawer out fast, causing it to fall off the hinges. He rummages through it and pulls out handfuls of pages of bloody scripture, digging around in the drawer.

Charlie searches faster, getting more desperate. He stops and pulls out the photo of him and Kate during his impromptu birthday. Charlie smiles at it and lies back down on his side. He stares at it with a sad, tearful smile, talking to himself.

Charlie: "I'm Charlie… I'm sa…"

His eyes shut with a few panicked breaths. He opens them slightly and stares at the image, at Kate.

Charlie: "I'm Charlie. I'm Charlie…"

His breath calms, now sitting in the darkness as his present self.

Charlie: "I'm—I'm in my apartment… I'm safe…"

The apartment fades back into view, the mess of papers fading into his clothes scattered around the drawer.

Charlie: "I… Kate… Kate took me out for my birthday… They took me to a car show—"

A sad smile slowly forms on his face.

Charlie: "Then they took me to a diner. They got me a pancake cake, and… and a 1967 Shelby GT-500 toy. They…"

Charlie's mind goes back to him holding his own spare key, alone in his apartment.

Charlie tears up and begins to sob, clutching the photo.

Kate sits on Ayden's couch, alone, on a laptop, searching for "how to support someone with PTSD"