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Sinclair’s eyes stared at the dark ceiling above him. When night had come and he had been able to go to his room aboard the bus for the night, he found himself locked into another sleepless, exhausting trance. No matter how fatigued his brain was, he wasn’t allowed sleep, not when her voice was always just a few steps behind him.
Even on his chair, lying back and away from noise, he could still hear a faint whistle. One that grew louder and louder in the back of his mind, a reminder of everything he had seen in his hometown…of everything she had done to him. Sinclair’s eyes closed tightly, his face moving to a grimace as he tried his hardest not to think about what was already rampaging through his mind. He was tired. Not just in his body, though his face already sporting dark bags beneath his eyes and a more sluggish demeanor…but emotionally. Mentally. He wanted this all to end. To be free from her voice, her touch, her obsession.
A hand faintly grazed his shoulder.
”My…Sinclair.”
The young man gasped, sitting up. Sweat was already forming on his face, hands shakily moving to rub his eyes. Had he zoned out? Was that a dream?
The sound of footsteps from behind drew his attention. The hand returned, moving from a gentle touch on his shoulder, to a rough grab on his cheek. The footsteps continued until a figure clad in white clothes armor adorned with red splotches walked in front of him. He didn’t need to look up to see who it was. Sinclair could feel his legs quiver…yet his teeth grit against themselves. Fear and anger washed over him. She was dead. Gone. Yet even now, he couldn’t keep her away.
”It’s been so long, my Sinclair.”
Her other hand, this one armored and cold planted on his other cheek, forcing him to look up. White hair with yellow streaks spilt against his face, tired, desperate eyes meeting the calmly-crazed ones of his nightmare. Sinclair’s lips trembled, the strength he had to punch, thrash, and fight fading as memories came flooding to him like a wave crashing onto the shore. Memories from his youth, memories of her inquisition, memories of her transforming into a beast and continuing her assault on the sinners…
…Memories of his parents and sister, killed by her command.
”Y-You’re…not…real.”
Sinclair was not just telling her…but assuring himself that the woman who ruined his life wasn’t actually standing before him.
“You wish I was.”
Kromer backed up, just two steps. Her hands planted on her hips, that devilish grin growing on her face.
“You wish you could face me yourself, alone and with no help.”
Sinclair scrambled to his feet, the chair falling over as he quickly moved to the corner of his room, retrieving the large halberd with ‘VOGEL’ written along its blade. However, the strength fled his arms, barely able to tug it from its position, hugging it as if it alone could protect him from her, without a swing, without a jab.
”You wish you could kill me. You wish you could get vengeance for those you lost...”
She approached steadily, Sinclair letting out choked sobs and whispers. He could feel her breath against his neck, as if she were going to sink her teeth into his flesh.
”…But you can’t. Oh, my sweet, poor Sinclair. You’re trembling. Do you really hate me that much?”
Her cackle made him shake even harder. The urge to attack, to swing his halberd blindly until all that was left was a red stain on the floor coursed through his veins. Adrenaline shot through his body, giving him the strength his fear pulled away. He swung, a cry of anguish leaving him as he struck the air repeatedly, eyes closed tight and hands clenched around the shaft of his weapon so tightly that his knuckles were pure white. After a few moments, he slowed down, panting, until his arms hugged the halberd tight again. He didn’t look to see if she was there or not, yet he knew the answer without the need for any senses.
”Just leave me ALONE!”
His delusions were maddening. Others had suffered the same amount; if not more than he had…so why was it so hard to cope? To understand that his family was gone, yet so was she? He wanted to scream. Not at her…but for someone else. To call and have another to give him the attention he clearly lacked…the time to help get this sick beast out of his mind for good…but he couldn’t. He was afraid. If the others had suffered just as much as he had…why should he get special treatment? He felt like the runt of the litter, unable to cope, unable to fight, unable to even sleep properly because of his past.
“You know why you’re like this.”
Her voice brought him back to his senses. It was a dam against the river of his mind. Sinclair’s eyes opened again, locked with hers. Her grin had never faded, her eyes predatory and amused.
”If you can’t live with yourself, how do you expect to get better? Shhh.”
She planted a hand on the wall beside him. He was silent, still. He had spoken very little, trying his hardest to bite his tongue to keep from yelling at this time of night.
”That’s it…be quiet. You listen to everything I say, even after I’ve left. It’s like you can’t do anything yourself…it’s like…”
Kromer giggled, leaning forward and pressing her head to Sinclair’s chest, the boy crying silently as he stared towards the door to his room. He could run…he could go back to the bus’ seats and wait for morning, and maybe then everything would be calm. Maybe then he’d be able to relax and sleep. Maybe the manager would be able to wake him up before they left again. His head was beginning to pound…he wanted to vomit.
”…You’re nothing without ME.”
Kromer retracted, and Sinclair dashed away. His halberd was held tightly in his hands, swinging his door open and not bothering to close it as he ran to the actual bus-section of Mephi. He moved into a seat, staring out the dark window. Everything was quieter…calmer. He could see his disheveled self. His eyes were sullen…his face was unnaturally pale, hair beginning to look unkept. It took him a moment to stop nitpicking his appearance internally to notice that another face was reflected next to his.
”You can’t run from your past again. You already conquered it…but here you are, still wanting to be held like a baby.”
Sinclair turned, back against the window as he held Vogel like a blockage, the blade angled towards himself as Kromer pushed against it.
”Kromer…is…DEAD! Stop it…STOP IT!”
Sinclair finally shouted, his left hand grabbing his halberd behind its blade, just above the spike that jutted from its back. This gave Kromer enough leverage to push the blade against his throat, stopping just as a faint, red line began to form.
”I’m dead…that’s right…but not to you.”
She leaned forward again, her face getting closer and closer. Behind the sadistic gaze was a hollowness, something that only an illusion could carry. The two paused their struggles, Sinclair sobbing silently. Kromer’s lips connected with his for a moment, muffling the soft whimpers and whines he let out, before retracting.
”…To you…you’re all mine.”
The sound of footsteps down the hall made Sinclair look up, then back to where Kromer should’ve been. In her place was…emptiness…yet his hand kept pushing down on his own halberd, digging the blade deeper into his neck as a shaky grin formed on his dry lips, tears rolling down his cheeks.
”Kiddo…what’s with all the…”
Rodya’s voice fell off as she caught sight of the boy clearly attempting a suicide. She nearly yelped with surprise, quickly moving to wrestle with him. Her hands pulled on the halberd, and thanks to being stronger than him naturally, pulled the blade away from his neck. Another pair of footsteps followed, this time carried by a figure with noticeably messy hair.
”Oi…what’dya think you’re doing lad?! Have you lost it?”
Rodion looked back at Heathcliff with visible distress on her face, clearly conveying even through the darkness what needed to be done.
”…Right. Clockhead’ll fix you right up.”
A swift punch to the face knocked Sinclair back, making him wail louder…then another landed, putting him out cold. He slumped, blood slowly trickling down from his nose…his grip on his halberd remaining strong even after he slowly let it drift away from a position that could harm himself.
”Ah…what do we do, what do we do?! Why was he trying to kill himself?!”
Rodya seemed frantic, protectively wrapping a shoulder around Sinclair’s unconscious body. Heathcliff stood, looking towards the back door.
”…I’ll get Clockface. Keep the lad asleep.”
With a hurried pace, the young man moved to get more help, leaving Sinclair and Rodion alone. She kept him close, his head resting against her shoulder. They had all noticed how…different…he had acted since their trip to fight off N Corp. for the golden bough…Outis had berated him plenty for ‘subpar’ performance, and he had gotten himself into a pinch plenty of times in combat…but despite everyone seeing it, nobody had mentioned it to one another, or even to the boy himself. What was pushing him to the brink? Why was he so tired?
Would it all come back to haunt him again?