Fred didn't like this. Not at all. And really, that was like saying that the sun was a bit warm.

The stairwell was dark, and though it was much warmer than outside, it was still pretty chilly.

It was impossible to tell how much time had passed since they'd retreated to the stairwell. The sun was down by now, he was sure, but aside from that he didn't know.

No one said anything, nobody moved from where they sat.

Fred figured they were all processing. It was obvious that Melody wasn't going to just let them leave. But before there had at least been the hope of escape.

Now they didn't even have that.

So what now? Where are we s'posed to go from here?

All he could think to do was sit there, cradling his head in his hands, and pray to a God he wasn't sure he believed in.

It was ironic, how badly he wanted to live, when not that long ago he'd caught himself playing with the edge of a broken piece of glass. His mother had thrown another cup at him, then made him clean up the mess. He'd been considering just slashing his wrist right there, if only to see what she would've done. Probably yelled at him for getting blood all over the kitchen floor.

Like she was one to talk—

A sharp pain sliced through his head, and Fred bit down on his tongue to keep from making a sound. Great, he thought. Another headache. Just what I need right now.

{ { o } }

Tom had to admit: he'd never felt so helpless in his life.

That was saying something, given his whole life had been, up-to and including this point, helpless. That was the very definition of his life, so really, he should be used to this.

Or perhaps it wasn't that he was completely helpless, since that was nothing new. Perhaps it was the lack of the one thing that had always kept him going before, even if he'd never really noticed until now.

Hope.

Such a simple, four-letter word.

Never had a word weighed on him so much.

Funny, how heavy it was, given that there wasn't any of it left.

{ { o } }

Syd found that she was staring blankly up at the ceiling. She couldn't see it very well in the dim light of the stairwell, but that didn't matter. It was something to look at, something solid, real. Something that didn't want to tear her limb from limb.

She shuddered, and she told herself it was just from the cold.

At least she knew how to handle the cold. She'd done that often enough when her dad made her sleep in the basement. All the same, she found herself missing her hoodie. She might've hated it, but at least it had been warm. Now it was a bandage. She'd recognized the pieces wrapped around Suzanne's foot, and Fred's arm. Syd didn't mind. Sure, she was freezing. But at least the hoodie had done someone some good.

Where am I even going with this line of thought? Who gives a flying fuck about that old thing when there's a dead psycho bitch after us?

Though she knew why she'd let her thoughts wander to that stupid hoodie. It was better than the alternative. Better than thinking about the situation she was in. That they were all in.

Because this was it.

The end.

They were all going to die here, just like Alan, and Didi, and all the others.

There was nowhere left to go. No one was coming to save them. They were trapped and alone.

It's over.

It was funny, in a way. Now that she knew she was going to die, Syd could only think of all the things she would never get to do. All the choices she regretted, the people (few as they were) that she would miss. The people that she knew wouldn't miss her.

What do you call this feeling? This complete and utter hopelessness? She wondered.

A soft voice, one that she'd heard on occasion when she'd felt at her lowest, answered her. I think they call this 'despair.' Better get used to it. It's the last thing you'll ever experience.

{ { o } }

Eddie didn't realize he was crying until he felt the hot sting of tears running down his cheeks. He curled tighter into himself, hugging his legs close to his chest an burying his face in his knees. If there was one thing he was good at, it was silent crying. He couldn't remember when exactly he'd picked up the skill, though he imagined he had his father to thank for it.

After all, according to Edward Schultz Sr., real men don't cry.

Eddie supposed that there might be some credit to the idea, but right then he didn't care. The past ten to twelve hours had been nothing but an emotional roller coaster. No, not even that. Roller coasters ran on tracks, they have a set path, they will always go the same route.

It was more like a natural disaster. Wild and dangerous, unpredictable. Overwhelming. The only thing you can do is hide or be swept up in the storm.

Now, in the silence, all that emotion was catching up to him. All the fear, the guilt, the anger and regret, the waning adrenaline...

So he cried.

Because he knew that was all that he could do.

It was obvious to him now that Melody wasn't going to let them leave. Not alive in any case. Maybe his parents would notice that he hadn't come home, but he doubted it.

It was one of the many things he found himself regretting. Perhaps if he'd tried harder to please them, hadn't acted out so often, had been the son they wanted... Maybe they would notice. But he wasn't. He was a clown. He took everything lightly. Nothing really mattered, because his parents would always keep him out of trouble. Even if it was only to preserve their own image.

He couldn't bring himself to hope for any help from them.

He knew it would only end in disappointment. Then again, that was the very nature of hope, wasn't it? To have it, and then be crushed by it...

Eddie told himself that he didn't really care anymore. What's the point? It's all over now, anyway.

But deep inside a voice whispered, You're a terrible liar. If you didn't care, this would all be so much easier.

{ { o } }

Suzanne was trying to seethe as quietly as she could, so as not to disturb the others. She could feel their thoughts weighing down on her, wanting to drag her into her own depression. But she clung to her own personal anger, letting it eat at her along with the guilt. I should have seen this coming!

She should've done something! Anything! She should've known that Melody would be watching them, just waiting for them to try and escape.

Melody was just playing with them at this point, reveling in their despair.

Suzanne was sick of it.

I need to do something.

They couldn't leave, not without Melody interfering, and Suzanne wasn't willing to ask any of them to sacrifice themselves as a distraction so the rest could escape. It wouldn't work anyway.

Hell, they couldn't even call for help...

At least, she thought, a sudden idea striking her, not in the conventional manner.

Suzanne had tried projecting thoughts at people in the past, and it had worked.

She wondered if she could still do it, and just how far she could reach. Only one way to find out.

So she sat, criss-cross-applesauce, her hands resting on her knees, and started breathing.

In, calmness and clarity.

Out, her fears and rampaging thoughts.

In, concentration and focus.

Out, emotions and distractions.

Over and over again, steadily clearing her mind.

She could think of only one person to reach out to, and only one sure way to reach him in a way that didn't seem too strange.

{ { o } }

She didn't realize it was working until she found herself standing in the lobby of the police station.

Well, 'standing' wasn't really the word for it. She was there, sort of. But she didn't have a body, or even a form or shape, per say. She wasn't even really seeing the lobby, not in the visual sense. Everything was a mass blur, though objects became clear when she focused her attention on them. But she only needed to focus on one thing.

Please, she prayed to whatever divinity there might be. Please let this work.