ชิ้นChîn: Chapter 15. Know Thee

Kate sits on Ayden's couch, their legs pulled up and their face buried in their knees. Ayden walks into the living room and sits beside Kate.

Ayden: "Hey."

Kate lifts their face, eyes red and puffy from crying.

Ayden: "How is he?"

Kate's voice hoarse: "I don't know."

Ayden: "You haven't called to check?"

Kate shakes their head.

Ayden: "Do you want to?"

Kate doesn't respond. Their eyes start to tear up again, and they drop their head into their hands.

Kate: "I can't do this. I can't take watching him like this. I don't want to abandon him—but what do I do?"

Kate leans onto Ayden, and he puts an arm around them.

Kate: "What do I do, Ayden?"

Ayden: "...I don't know."

-

Kate enters their mother's house, face still red but eyes dry. Their mother sits at the kitchen table with a photo album. Her head turns towards Kate, but she does not look at them. Kate looks at her with a weak scowl and walks towards their room.

Kate, in their room, begins to pack, occasionally sniffing. The redness of their eyes has faded to saggy exhaustion.

Kate steps out of their room with a few bags and takes them to their car. They come back in and grab more. Their mother glances towards them silently with a grimace. Kate exits their room with a final suitcase, their mini bag, and stuffed platypus.

Catherine: "Where did I go wrong with you?"

Kate looks at her with an angry sneer.

Kate: "I don't think either of us has the time for that one."

Catherine: "It's my fault you're like this."

Kate turns: "Like what?!"

They let go of the suitcase and drop their stuffed animal on top.

Kate's mother's eyes stay locked onto a photo of Kate, on their father's shoulders, as a young male presenting child.

Kate, tearing up: "You have no idea who I really am. You only see what you wish I were, and you're afraid I might be."

Catherine glances towards Kate but does not look at them directly.

She turns back to the photo.

Cathrerine: "Of course, I see what you are! The whole world can see! You can't act like this and not get hurt by it."

Kate's anger softens to pain.

Kate: "I was always being hurt by it, Mom… I don't need you hurting me, too."

She tears up, eyes still down at the photo.

Catherine: "I never wanted to hurt you, Cody. I just don't know what to do."

Kate sits down at the table beside her.

Kate: "It's Kate."

She finally looks up at Kate directly, seeing their face.

She looks away again to close the photo album.

Catherine: "...You picked a beautiful name."

-

Charlie opens his eyes, curled up in a fetal position on his bed. He blinks a few times.

Clink

Charlie jerks up with a startled gasp and sees Anwir sitting at the dining table, having set a coffee mug down.

Anwir: "Sorry, did I wake you?"

Charlie calms down and sits up, hunched over, and rubs his head.

Anwir watches him, his friendly smile turns to sorrowful concern. He stands up, steps towards the bed, and sits on the edge.

Anwir: "Are you alright, Charlie?"

Charlie: "I don't know."

Anwir looks away in thought for a moment before he turns back to Charlie.

Anwir: "I need to go do something, would you mind coming with me?"

Charlie: "I don't know."

Anwir: "It won't take long—and I don't think you should be alone right now."

Charlie defeated: "I'm not going to kill myself."

Anwir: "I know."

Anwir stands and holds out a hand.

Anwir: "Come on."

Charlie looks over to him, a strained look as he pulls himself out of bed to stand on his own.

-

Charlie and Anwir walk down the street, Charlie grimaces at the sounds of passing cars and people shouting.

Anwir notices: "I promise it's more peaceful where we're going."

They near Anwir's shop, Anwir stops and turns to Charlie.

Anwir: "Give me just one moment."

He enters the shop. Charlie stands alone. A passing car honks at another, and Charlie reels away from it. His breath picks up. He stumbles to the wall of the shop and covers his face, shaking.

Anwir steps back out with a bouquet. He sees Charlie and steps over to him.

Anwir: "Charlie?"

Charlie looks up to Anwir, his form warps into the killer. Charlie clenches his eyes shut and covers them again, hyperventilating.

Anwir's voice: "Charlie, what do you smell?"

Charlie, through breaths: "Dirt—mold—"

His breath quickens and hitches.

Charlie: "Paper—blood—"

Anwir's voice: "Take it slow. Deep breath."

Charlie tries, but his breath keeps hitching.

Anwir's voice: "It's okay, keep going."

Charlie's breath slows, still hitching.

Anwir's voice: "What do you smell?"

Charlie slowly opens his eyes and sees the flowers Anwir holds up to his nose.

Anwir smiles: "There you are."

He reaches up to hold them and breathe in their scent.

Anwir lets go of them for Charlie to hold and comfortingly rubs Charlie's arm as he leads him away from the store.

-

Anwir leads Charlie to a large building, Stone Hollow Church.

Charlie stops, still holding the flowers.

Charlie: "Uh…"

Anwir turns to him.

Charlie: "I don't believe in… this."

Anwir chuckles: "Don't worry, I'm not going to try to convert you. I don't believe in the Roman god anymore either."

Charlie hesitantly follows him up the large steps to the front door.

Anwir: "I keep the collar because it's a comfort. A deep part of my past identity that I just can't seem to let go of. Even though it no longer fits who I am."

Anwir pulls open the door with his left hand and waits for Charlie to enter.

The Church is mostly empty, save for a few people scattered among the many benches. Anwir steps up to a nun, then turns to Charlie and reaches a hand out for the flowers.

Anwir: "May I?"

Charlie hands him back the bouquet, and Anwir hands it to the nun. She takes it and gives a thankful nod.

Anwir leads Charlie to an isolated pew and sits down, Charlie sits beside him.

Anwir: "Flowers help me stay grounded, maybe that's why I love them. The smell distracts me from the past and brings me back to the present."

Anwir: "It can be hard getting through the day. I have found small things that help me stay strong."

Charlie frowns and looks down.

Charlie: "I can't do that."

Anwir looks at him.

Charlie: "Nothing helps me. I'm not strong enough."

Anwir: "What do you mean, Charlie?"

Charlie: "I'm weak. Useless. I'm a coward. No matter what I do or how hard I try, I'm always... on the verge of drowning. Always suffocating."

Anwir silently listens, Charlie's voice cracking as he chokes up.

Charlie: "I can't protect people. I can't even provide for myself. I can't go back to who I was, and I'm crap at being what I am now. I can't fix myself. I can't do anything. I can't even face my own fears… I'm weak."

Anwir: "It's alright, you're allowed to be."

Charlie's brow furrows.

Charlie: "That's—not the response I was expecting."

Anwir, soft smile: "I found accepting my weaknesses is more empowering than denying them. Forced optimistic faith always just sets me up for failure. Ensuring yourself that you will simply get over it if you just try hard enough, all that does is make you feel more defeated and hopeless when things don't get any better."

Anwir: "I don't see you the way you see yourself, Charlie. I don't view you as weak, useless, or a coward. But would you believe that?"

Charlie: "...Probably not."

Anwir: "Exactly. Because that's not what this is really about, is it? It's about pain, your pain. And who am I to dismiss that?"

Charlie goes silent, his head still down. His breath breaks with a single sob. He puts his hands to his face. A few tears stream past his hands.

Charlie: "I'm sorry…"

Anwir: "There's nothing to apologize for, Charlie."

Charlie wipes off his face, and they sit in silence for a while, staring up at the far-off ceiling and huge window panes of three stained glass images.

First, Jesus is bleeding on a cross. Second, Jesus off the crucifix, Mary cradling him. Finally, Mary is on her knees, head down at Jesus' feet, behind him a large angel with several wings and a shining light for a head.

Charlie: "Why do you still come here if you don't believe in it?"

Anwir: "Because sometimes it's still comforting, speaking to my old god."

Charlie confused: "You still pray to a god you don't believe in?"

Anwir: "Mhm. After I left the church, I realized something—all the times I was praying to God, that feeling of connection, it wasn't with God. I was connecting with myself. I never needed to talk to a god. I needed me," he sighs, "But even still, I'm just a small fragment. I need other people, too. That's why church works. It helps us learn to communicate with ourselves and connect to others through the guise of a god. That's all we need, to be whole again. And worship, that just helps us numb the pain while we work alone. So we can—"

Anwir pauses, lips briefly twist into a pained frown.

Anwir: "—for just a moment, not feel broken, and alone."

Charlie glances away, a painful recognition on his face.

Anwir takes a deep sigh and collects himself.

Anwir: "So, sometimes when I'm struggling, I come here. Because this is how I learned to connect."

Anwir stands: "Well then, that's enough of my rambling—let's go. Unfortunately, I have duties to attend to."

He stands and reaches a hand out to Charlie. Charlie looks at it, then reaches up with his left hand, taking it. Anwir firmly grips his hand, pulls him up, lets go, and then follows him out.

-

Anwir and Charlie walk down the church steps.

Anwir: "Will you be alright?"

Charlie: "...I'll manage."

Anwir: "What do you plan on doing, now?"

Charlie: "I'm... going to numb myself with a drink and try to get some sleep."

Anwir nods and smiles: "Call me if you need."

Charlie smiles back: "...Thanks, Anwir."

Charlie splits off from Anwir and walks alone.

-

Charlie walks down the street to his apartment building, a paper bag with an unopened bottle in hand.

Charlie pulls open the building door—

Kate: "Charlie."

Charlie turns, surprised as he sees Kate walk towards him.

Charlie: "Kate?"

Kate spots the bottle in Charlie's hand. A tinge of disappointment crosses their face.

Kate: "Can we talk?"

Charlie: "Of course…"

He holds the door open for Kate.

-

Kate enters the apartment, Charlie following behind. Back turned to Charlie, Kate frowns, and their eyes well up. They mask it and turn around to Charlie, holding up a key.

Charlie looks down at it, then takes it, confused.

Kate: "I'm sorry, Charlie, but—I want to be here for you, I want to help you—"

Their voice cracks and they start to tear up.

Kate: "I love you. But I can't do this, I can't stay attached to you while you…"

Charlie looks down at the key and his lips tighten, hiding the hurt.

Kate: "...it's like you're destroying the man I fell in love with."

Kate rubs their eyes and collects themself, Charlie lowers his hand with the key and looks off to the side.

Kate: "If I can do anything to help you, please call me. Alright?"

Charlie doesn't respond.

Kate stares at him. Their face breaks into a teary, pained expression as they step up and wrap their arms around Charlie to hold him.

Kate: "I'm sorry, Charlie…"

Charlie, flat: "I understand."

Kate pulls away and walks towards the door, they exit and shut it behind themself.

Charlie stands there gripping the key. He tosses it onto the table, holds up the bottle, and twists the cap off.

-

Conner is in his apartment, preparing a new board. It is still mostly bare, only containing a list, most scratched out, and a page of forensic lab results with a note.

[Human?—No. Preserved. Abnormal? Clean cut. Still living. How?]

He looks to his side, then his other side. He spins around in frustrated search.

Conner: "Bordel, where is it?" {Damn}

He steps over his shelf and dresser, looking over the stacked file-filled shelves. He sifts through the endless papers, photos, books, tapes, DVDs, and even a few hard drives.

Conner: "Putain!" {Fuck!}

He stands, eyes darting around the apartment. He steps up to the overhead cupboards in his kitchenette, pulls out more junk, and sifts through them, looking under and around.

His landline phone rings. He gives a frustrated growl and grabs it.

Conner sharp: "Quoi?" {What?}

Caller: [Well, hello to you, too, old friend.]

Conner opens the under-counter cupboard and peers in. He reaches his head in and looks over the stacks of dusty boxes, papers, tapes, and folders.

Conner: "Magne-toi. What do you want?" {to rush: Hurry up}

Conner spots a 'drugstore beetle' crawling across the top of a stack of papers. He reaches out and pinches it up.

Caller: [Remember that person you were looking for? Twenty-five-year-old male.]

Conner: There are a lot of twenty-five-year-old males in my line of work. Be specific!

Conner tosses the beetle into his mouth and chews.

Caller: [Uh—Was it Alfred, Edmund—?]

Conner swallows and rolls his eyes.

Caller: [Edward!]

Conner's eyes widen, and he jerks up.

Conner: "E—Argh!"

Conner bangs the back of his head on the cupboard frame.

He pulls himself out of the cupboard, sits on the kitchenette floor, and holds the phone up by his shoulder while he rubs the back of his head, the phone wire wrapped around his torso.

Conner: "Wait—No, you said twenty-five?"

Caller: [Actually more like twenty-seven by now.]

Conner's disappointment returns to a hopeful disbelief.

Caller: [I found a contact for an Edward Villard in some old company papers from a few years ago.]

Conner stammers: "T’es sérieux?" {Are you serious?}

He stands, the phone cord wrapped around him further.

Conner: "Give me the number, address, anything!"

As the caller speaks, he turns and lifts the wrapped cord over and off of him.

Caller: [Hold up, I already tried to call for you, see if he knows you—]

Conner anxiously grimaces: "Don't do that..."

Caller: [But the number is disconnected. And the address is a vacant apartment lot.]

He spots a small tin sitting on the edge of the top level of a tall shelf. He stares at it and tilts his head with exasperated irritation.

Caller: [Owner said the guy moved out a couple years ago. I can send you everything I have—]

Conner: "Yes! S'il te plaît—Thank you." {Please}

Caller: [Any time. Good luck finding him, Conner.]

The call hangs up with a click. Conner lowers the phone from his ear and stares at it in disbelief as it quietly gives off the continuous disconnected tone.

He places the phone back on the hook. His disbelief turns to an ecstatic smile with a speechless huff.

He turns his eye to the tin, his excitement falters, and he ponders.

A knock at his door catches his attention. He steps over to the bolted and chained door. He unhooks the bolt, save for the chain, and pulls it open.

Basit: "Nora sent us."

Conner: "Basit?"

-

Conner pricks his chest with one of his spider legs and pulls a red string from it. He lifts the string from around his neck over his head and then grabs the new string, weaving them together. His focus shifts from the thread in his hand to the tin and blade sitting on the desk in front of him.

Nora steps into the basement, looking exhausted.

Nora: "Still nothing. But they'll keep trying."

Conner stern: "We're running out of options."

Nora: "Hyphae is trying their best."

Conner: "...I know."

Nora looks down at the blade.

Nora: "So, what do we know about—this?"

Conner continues to weave the threads.

Conner: "The blade is just like the papers, but—more. They must be an Abnormal, or at least pieces of one."

Nora: "Does that help us?"

Conner: "Only if we had some way to track an Abnormal with a piece of it, or ask what we have, who the killer is."

Nora: "Can you—?"

Conner: "This metal doesn't bleed."

Nora sighs: "Right. I'll make some calls and see if anyone can help.

Nora looks up at the board.

Nora: "Do we know how many targets there might be?"

Conner blunt: "Thirteen."

Nora exasperated: "Oh god… And we're already eleven down. Why would they do this?"

Conner: "They think they are remaking God."

Nora, disbelief: "Really? All this over—nonsense… I uh– I need to get ready. The community put together a memorial for those we've lost so far. I promised I would be there."

Conner looks up, staring at the board with frustration.

Conner mutters quietly: "I have to find the last target."

Nora walks away: "Hyphae planned the service. I know it doesn't matter much right now, but the decor is beautiful. You should come."

Conner grumbles in rejection.

She walks out of the basement, and Conner's furrowed brows suddenly lift in realization. His eyes then drop to the thread loop in his hands. He places it on top of a folded note sitting on the desk. His focus turns to the tin sitting between the blade and the note. He picks it up and opens it. He holds up a scrap of paper and pins it to the board with the others.

[View board #5]

12#

Gone shall be the Scion and the Hallowed, and the world shall fall silent—yet not still.

For the world is of God, in hollow body, and still doth our Lord hunger.

Consume it shall, forevermore, until naught remains but the time that slippeth into Her void.

But of Her, she is not God, and of Her, the Lord doth not hunger.

He sets the tin beside the blade and note, a finger piece sits inside. He turns and steps over to the webs scattered along the corners of the room.

Conner finds a folder and pulls it from the web. He sifts through the pages of victims and their employer companies. He stops in front of the desk again and looks up. Brows furrow as he sees only the tin, finger, and note. His face goes stoic again, and he tosses the folder onto the desk.

Conner: "Te voilà. So, that time then? I hoped to at least meet who was next in line." {Here you are.}

Behind Conner, the killer steps out of the shadows.

Conner peers over his shoulder.

Conner: "Mind answering a few questions, first? Just a few."

The killer silently walks forward and lifts the blade in his hand.

Conner's brows furrow: "I was asking nicely!"

His appendages dart from his back and swiftly pull on the strings of his web. A few webs from around the room move, tighten, and wrap around the killer. The killer struggles to break free his arm just enough to slice through the strings. Conner stares in disbelief as the killer effortlessly cuts through the webs with the blade. He drops from them, lightly stumbling and gripping his right shoulder. Conner collects himself again, masking his fear. He pulls more strings, the killer slicing them as they near him. Conner tries to take the opportunity to stab at him with his appendage, but the killer barely dodges it and slices through the appendage with the blade.

Conner reels back, crying out in pain as the leg bleeds, the remaining ones pulled back in defense as the killer calmly walks closer.

Conner, desperate and angry: "Pourquoi ?! Why bother with this ritual? Why use Charlie? Is this all I am—all Charlie is?! A tool in this fichu game of yours, something to—to just consume for you to become the 'vassal', an Aul?! Is that what your God wants?!" {Why?!} {damned}

The Killer's pace halts, and his head tilts slightly, confused. His head lifts again, and he holds the blade up in his palm.

Conner stares at it, a grim realization.

Conner: "You are the 'blessed'… Je suis vraiment con…" {I'm an idiot…}

The killer holds his other hand up, both pull away from the blade, and it hovers in place. The blade tilts itself. Its point aims at Conner.

Conner's eyes widen: "Then—Charlie—"

The blade shoots forward and into Conner's forehead, the tip piercing the back of his skull. Conner drops to the ground, lifeless. The killer steps up, grabs Conner by the leg, and drags him to the center of the room. He steps up to his head and pulls the blade out.

-

Conner, a significantly larger spider than before, crawls up a thicker branch in his glass enclosure. Edward is outside, playing in the front yard. A car pulls up to the curb beside him.

Conner's little spider face peers out of the window, watching. The car drives away, Edward gone. Conner reaches up a leg to the glass.

-

The killer slices through Conner's torso, blood pouring. The Killer falters, turning his head away, and gags.

—Let not thine duties falter before the blood of Man, for the Vessel must be made.

He takes a few heavy breaths, looks back, and continues to cut.

—Let thy Lord bear the burden of thy mind, that thou mayest be of His will—

The blade lifts from his carcass, dripping with blood.

—and carry His body as thou dost shape the Vessel—

Charlie's finger piece, resting in the tin. The killer slices through Connor's neck.

—from the hollowed shards thou hast carved from the Hallowed Man.

The killer stands, holding Conner's disembodied left arm, the rest of him in pieces from toes to skull.

He turns to leave the basement.

—Only then, with the Flesh thou hast been charged to bear, shalt thou pierce the hollow and fill the Vessel with the Glory of our Lord.

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