Time is a construct.
Time is nothing.
Time is everything.
Time is irrelevant.
Though no matter what anyone thought about time, it meant nothing in the realm of the Entity.
The survivors would talk for hours of the different times they were taken, but for the most part, they realized that they were within the same one hundred years of each other. For Meg, however, every time a new survivor would appear at the campfire, the years seemed to drag on.
She was taken in 2009.
The latest survivor, Ash, was taken in 2018.
Nine years she missed, though she tried not to think if she had spent nine years living around that campfire and being brutally murdered, or if time meant absolutely nothing.
She never knew the answer, it could have been either.
But as far as she knew, there were no survivors or killers that were from the distant future.
So maybe there was a limit on from what times the Entity can pull people from.
That’s the only explanation, right?
Because then how are her and the Trapper both stuck in 2019? If they were to get sent to their own times, she would be sent back a decade ago, and the Trapper would be sent back even farther she assumed.
Time meant nothing it seemed, but the more she thought about it, there must be rules that even something like the Entity had to follow.
But for now, the only thought running through her mind is that she is staring at the Trapper, and she has to run.
It was as though a sudden invisible force pulls her from her frozen state, ushering her to run, to get as far away as she can.
Pushing her heels into the ground beneath her, she sprints off in the opposite direction of the stunned Trapper, who simply stares at her for a few seconds, before seemingly getting his own confidence and chasing slightly after her.
As it was in the trials, she was never faster than him, never faster than any of them, but with her racing heart and the pure adrenaline coursing through her veins, she sprints away as fast as she can, ignoring any poor bystander she passes.
Her eyes dart around as she squeezes between groups of people, couples walking on the sidewalk; a mother and child, or even the occasional single person walking, she doesn't care.
All she knows is that she needs to get away as far as possible, as quickly as possible.
The heartbeat that grows in her ears is just as loud as any trial, and a small voice inside her mind makes her question if this is just another Entity’s game to make her feel like she’s safe then drop a killer in to kill her in broad daylight...
But yet everything here seems so real.
Thinking back, there was always something off about the trials and about the campfire though she could never place a finger exactly on what was wrong.
The way the fire crackled wasn’t quite normal as it always stayed too orange and never flickered enough as though it was like a painting.
The trees had waxy leaves and branches that seemed too hard and unyielding, and meanwhile the cars and metal barrels were almost too warm and too soft for metal.
The very feeling of the trials seemed like an illusion, or as Dwight liked to call it, a cheap escape room.
There was nothing that held her close enough to the real world in the trials, and what if the Entity knew that? What if whatever power it had suddenly turned into a new power over all of them that made them feel safe, warm, and welcome, and then ripped that away in a whole new level?
With that thought in her mind, she kept running. She kept running faster than she ever thought she could run, and with her heart in her throat and her head becoming dizzy, she looks behind her praying to whatever deity was responsible for her right now that she isn't being followed, but the Trapper was right on her heels, as he always was.
“Will you stop running, for fucks sake?” She hears him grunt in between breaths that she never heard him make. When killers chased her, they never seemed out of breath, or really showed any sort of weakness, and here he was, almost sounding out of breath.
Plus they never talked...
Without responding, she bolts suddenly to her right down an alleyway, hoping to lose him at the end by making a beeline to a new road, but unfortunately trash bags overflow the alleyway, blocking her one route of escape.
With a whimper, she looks up to see if there was something she could potentially climb onto, but before she knows it, two huge strong arms crash into the wall on either side of her, effectively trapping her within the Trapper’s grasp.
“Let me go!” she shrieks, not caring if anyone around them heard, or maybe she secretly hoped they would.
“Will you shut up and stop moving for a minute?” the Trapper grunts, his aggression clear in his strained voice.
Meg struggles as she starts clawing and punching his arms, her movements becoming frantic like a trapped cat.
“I’m not going to hurt you!” the Trapper finally yells, “I just want to talk!”
Meg freezes, not sure whether to believe him or not, though she knows she isn't really in a position to argue or disagree.
“What do you want?” she finally spits, her voice full of venom, as she look at his face merely inches from hers, although she couldn’t make out his expression due to the mask he still chose to wear during this time, even if it draws more attention to himself.
“What have you done?” He hisses at her, through, what she could guess, clenched teeth. There was no sign of him moving or him letting her go though his words worried her almost more than anything. “What have you done?” He repeats.
Meg’s mouth opens and closes, unable to find the words she truly wants to say. Her heartbeat seems to be exploding in her ears as every nerve in her body is on fire. She just wants to leave, wants to get out of his grasp, wants to leave and never be face-to-face with him again.
“What do you mean ‘what have I done?’” She asks, her voice a strained thread.
She is so close to his face, she can see his eyes search hers for the first time. She had never been this close to him to realize that there was truly a face underneath the mask that made up The Trapper.
In reality, she knew that there had to be a face under there, but with every monster and every killer she had come against, she was never too sure, but the way his eyes search hers, it causes a weird pit to begin to form in her stomach.
It almost makes him more human, which is something she doesn't need to think about him now.
She quickly glances at his arms expecting to see the usual rusty metal protruding grotesquely from his skin, but to her surprise, his arms look unscathed through his tattered suit.
He could pass for a normal man for once if you look past the mask.
Meg frantically searches his masked face for some sort of explanation.
“What do you mean where are we? Do you think this is my fault?” Meg screams back, still trying to wiggle out in between his arms. “We can talk just let me go!”
“You’ll only run away and I know this has to be some trick, some ploy by you survivors or something because this isn’t normal. This isn’t right! What have you done?” He repeats himself, his voice strained slightly more this time.
“I haven’t done anything!” Meg defends herself as she stops wiggling around as she simply stares him straight in his eyes that she now can see. “I want to get out of here as much as you do, I think. This wasn’t our doing, I’m as confused as you are!”
Silence passes between the two as both of their chests heave up and down furiously, before slowly calming down with each passing minute that they stand staring at each other knowing that Meg won’t run, and the Trapper won’t attack.
Questions enter Meg’s mind faster than she can even begin to handle, and she wonders if this is simply a game, or a glitch, or something worse, and coming face-to-face with someone who has made it their life goal to kill her every single day isn’t making this any easier.
Her heart still beats rapidly in her chest though the anxious bubbling in her stomach and throat has gone down.
She’s speechless, waiting for him to say something, or to try and defend himself as to why he thinks that her - no - the survivors could be behind whatever is going on, but he remains just as silent as ever.
“Hey!” A strange voice calls to them, causing them both to snap out of their trance and turn their heads towards the direction of the voice.
A small man stands at the end of the alleyway, his phone in hand.
“I’m about to call the cops! You okay miss?!” He calls out, his thumb on the dial button waiting for Meg’s confirmation.
Is she okay?
But what can she say to the cops?
She has no idea.
“Oh I’m fine!” She replies as the Trapper takes his arms down from either side of her. “We are fine.”
Her stomach sinks with such a lie, but what could she possibly say? How can she explain her being missing for a decade and yet being the same age?
How can she explain showing up in a town states away from her own house with no clue as to how she got there?
She thought she would want the cops but now she doesn't think she can go through that, so she settles on practically defending the one person that she hates the most in the world.
The man’s eyes dart between hers and the Trapper, him especially eyeing his mask, as he slowly nods and puts his phone down.
“Alright miss. Just thought I’d ask. Have a good day, you two.”
Neither of them make any response.
Meg swallows hard before turning back to the Trapper.
“What are you doing here?” She decides on asking, although she already knows the answer, she just doesn’t want to believe it.
“Dunno. Woke up in the woods and followed some tracks here; I’m assuming the tracks were yours.”
“And you know nothing else?” Meg asks, her tone sharp masking her absolute terror inside.
“You seem to have been here longer than I have, you tell me,” he replies, crossing his arms.
Meg lets out all of her breath in a quick sigh, not quite knowing where she wants his conversation to go or where she wants any of this to go.
She just wants to go back to the campfire where everything is predictable.
She just wants her friends.
And yet she is here encompassed by the Trapper.
“Well I’m going to go find out exactly where we are,” she starts saying as a hand grasps her arm tight.
“I’m not letting you out of my sight,” he growls.
“Excuse me?” Meg tries to stand defiantly yanking her arm away, but ends up almost collapsing under the weight of his words, her chest gripping so tight she can’t breath.
A phantom pain surges its way from her shoulder and radiates down her arm and spine.
“If this is your doing somehow, I’m not letting you out of my sight,” the Trapper repeats once more, taking a slight step forward.
Meg has to strain her head as she looks up, trying to look at his face.
“You may have control in the trials, but you have no say out here,” she says, her stomach flipping rapidly.
She knows full well he can lift her over his shoulder, could grip her neck with one hand, could break her bones with one squeeze, and yet she tries to hold onto the sliver of hope deep within her chest that maybe this is different.
Maybe everything is different.
She is terrified, mortified, petrified by the thought of the Trapper standing in front of her, but through her shaking legs and her breathy words, she stands her ground.
This is the only way in her mind that she can tell if this is real or not, and she needs to make sure.
She can’t keep wondering.
So despite her heels itching to run away, she stands, looking up at the Trapper who glares down at her, his chest heaving and empty hands twitching as though they are missing the weight of his weapon in his hand.
“You truly have nothing to do with this?” He asks, taking a slight step back and letting go of her arm causing Meg to let out a sigh of relief she didn’t realize she was holding.
If the Trapper realizes this, he makes no move to show that he noticed.
She is thankful.
“Of course not! You monsters killed us day in and day out, if anything all we wanted was to get out! Not to play some sick trick on you!”
She notices he flinched when she said the word ‘monsters’ but she couldn’t care less.
That’s what they were, what they are, there is no denying.
They killed her and her friends for sport over and over again, and she could never forgive them or forgive that.
She even wonders what she is doing still talking to him when she knows she should be running.
Every voice in her head that she knows would be telling her to run, and yet she stays.
She must have a death wish.
Before long the Trapper takes another step back and crosses his arms across his broad chest.
“That mouth of yours is going to get you killed,” he threatens, his voice growling low in his chest.
Meg flinches but stays rooted to the spot.
“We both know you could kill me easily, you wouldn’t need to warn me.”
He remains stoic, the only thing giving away that he isn’t a statue is his chest rising and falling in turn with Meg’s heartbeat.
But almost as quickly as their argument began, he turns and begins to walk away, and much to Meg’s surprise, she yells after him.
“Where are you going?”
He stops yet remains silent.
“Don’t you think…” Meg trails off, not quite sure what she wants to say, how to say it, or even if she should say it.
She has a second chance it seems, so why should she even be in his presence longer than she needs to be?
She knows she should let him go so she can try to get back to some semblance of life, a life that makes sense. But something about this whole situation doesn’t sit right with Meg. It’s like a constant buzzing in the back of her mind so quiet, she can almost tune it out, but yet, through all the noise, there it remains.
“Well?” The Trapper’s low voice breaks her from her thoughts. “Spit it out.”
“Should we really be separated?”
The Trapper says nothing as he turns his head slightly over his shoulder.
“I assumed you would want to get away from me as quickly as you could,” he responds with a slight chuckle before continuing, "as I also tried to get you not to leave what, five minutes ago?".
He was right, Meg knew he was right, so she remained silent, her stomach in knots. He did suggest staying together in a weird way but the way his arm clenched around hers and the venom in his voice when he said that initially sent pure chills down her spine.
She doesn’t want to be with him, but right now, he is the only person, the only thing that could possibly make sense to her.
“You’re not wrong,” Meg admits to him, “but what if this is some trick?”
At that, the Trapper spins around again, his voice growling deep in his chest.
“For the last time-”
“Yeah you say it’s not!” Meg interrupts throwing her hands up in the air. “But I don’t know that for sure! Plus, if it isn’t, shouldn’t we stick together to actually figure out what’s going on?”
The Trapper’s chest heaves up and down as his mouth turns downwards from what Meg can tell.
“Fine,” is all he says while turning around to walk back to the street.
The sickly sweet sinking feeling that settles over Meg almost makes her feel like she's going to be sick as she pushes herself off the wall and walks towards the one person she never would have thought she’d ever want to follow.
They reach the end of the alleyway before he stops dead in his tracks causing Meg to bump slightly into his arm.
Meg begins to ask why're they're stopping before she stops herself as she glances between the Trapper and what he seems to be looking at: the traffic.
Morning traffic is just beginning it seems as a constantly flow of cars pass, all different models and colors and sizes. It doesn't impress Meg much, but after a few beats of silence listening to soft rumbling cars pass them by as rush hour begins, the Trapper finally speaks up.
“Are those….automobiles?” His voice almost sounds a hundred miles away as he speaks. “They look so different.”
“Cars? They look about the same to me,” Meg responds. “Didn’t you ever see them in the trials?”
“Not particularly. Too focused on sacrifices.”
Meg’s stomach drops as she nods slightly. Of course he would only pay attention to his one goal: kill them. It only reinforces that they may have both been stuck in the trials but have had completely different experiences.
“And if I did, I’ve never seen them go so fast,” he whispers so soft, Meg can barely hear.
She peels her eyes from the road and looks up at his masked face that stares straight ahead lost in thought.
Silence passes between them, Meg unsure of what to say. In a weird way, this seems like a very intimate moment for him, and Meg only feels like she’s intruding on something she isn't supposed to see.
So instead of trying to come up with something to say, she rubs her arm and clears her throat.
“So, if we are going to be walking around, shouldn’t you take your mask off?”
The mention of the mask seems to instantly take The Trapper out of his trance as one of his broad hands reaches up to touch his face.
“We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves even more so than we have already,” Meg says, her voice small as she feels she might have crossed a line since he still hasn’t said a word about the mask.
“I don’t need you telling me what to do,” he spits in her direction causing her to recoil slightly.
“Well excuse me for not wanting to get the police called while we walk around,” Meg hisses back defensively. "We barely escaped that once, who knows if it'll happen a second time!"
“We will be fine,” The Trapper snaps back, seeming to get a newfound confidence before walking ahead, effectively ending that conversation.
She stalls slightly watching him take steps onto the sidewalk, his back upright and head held up high displaying his mask, a cruel vision that could easily hide anything else he was feeling.
She knows this is a lot for her, and she can only imagine how much it could be for him to be in a normal setting, so despite Meg’s blood boiling and heart racing, she walks after him concentrating on looking anywhere but directly at him.
They walk in silence for a few minutes as they both seem to observe their foreign surroundings.
The irritation, humiliation, and fear she felt with The Trapper in the alleyway seem to disappear slowly with each step.
The town, or rather street, itself is pretty tiny; a few blocks of shops and restaurants, with two stop lights interrupting the flow of traffic. She doubts this is the only street in town, but for growing up in a small town herself, she feels like this is the highlight of whatever town they are in.
By this time the sun is still low in the sky; its rays begin shining, illuminating shop fronts and reflecting off of passing cars. The thing that truly catches Meg’s attention though is the sharp, bold smell of coffee wafting out of the coffeeshop the two of them pass.
It takes her a moment, the smell like an invisible wall, trapping her in her place.
Instinctively, she breaths in slow and deep, savoring the one smell she thought she’d never experience again.
Being a runner and an athlete, she tried to stay away from caffeine or anything that would impact her ability to truly be in the moment; she got the energy and the rush from running, she didn’t need coffee, but that didn’t mean she didn’t like it on special occasions.
It reminded her of the weekends she would spend waking up early to go on a long run and then coming home to the smell of a big breakfast and coffee, or the times she stayed up way too late with friends so they jogged and got coffee before school, or any of the various times her mom would surprise her with trips to the local coffee shop just because, all flooded in her mind all at once. All the feelings of nostalgia practically cripple her for a moment as she closes her eyes and breathes in deep allowing the smell to encompass her and almost make her feel safe.
She never liked to think about it much at the campfire, resigning herself to the fact that she may never experience the smell or feelings that came with the hot beverage ever again.
But here, right now, she inhales the intoxicating scent letting it overflow her mind.
And now…she wants coffee.
Taking a step towards the coffee shop, he feels a forceful hand clamp her shoulder, jolting her out of her trance.
“Where do you think you’re going?” the Trapper asks, pulling her roughly aside.
The sudden forceful movement causes Meg’s stomach to drop and her heart rate to pick up, adrenaline taking her, her body screaming that she isn’t safe.
Like a scared rabbit, she almost makes a run for it, her mind confusing the fact that the Trapper is front of her, but isn’t actually trying to hurt her.
The Trapper, seeming to pick up on this, lets go of her though slowly and not all at once; he lets his fingers linger a little too long on the edge of her shoulder before letting his arm drop to his side.
“I’m not going to hurt you here,” he says, his voice full of venom and annoyance contradicting his words.
Meg’s frantic eyes look between his hand and his masked face.
Goddammit how she wishes he would just take off the mask like she suggested.
The spiked teeth, the dead eyes, the bloodstained, scratched wood, it all reminds her of torture and blood and pain; something she doesn’t need to be thinking about now that she’s smelling her coffee out in the morning almost believing that she is out of that nightmare for good.
But here she is, face-to-face almost touching one of the monsters who contributed to her torture for a decade.
And he is trying to take her away from the one joy she has left.
“Can you just please take off that goddamn mask already?” she ends up yelling, her voice octaves higher than normal. The jumbled words in her brain a mess, floating around not sure what she quite wants to say, so she settles on the one thing first and foremost on her mind.
She wants coffee, she doesn't know where she is, she wants to go home, she just spent a decade being killed, she wants her friends, she's standing beside her killer...
She knows deep down that attacking his mask once more wasn’t the right response, but it was the one she settles for.
“Just…please…” she almost pleads. She can’t see his expression, she never could anyway, but the way his shoulders slouch slightly and his hands remained at his side, flat, she could assume, or at least hope, that he isn’t mad at the second suggestion about his mask.
Silence passes between them for a minute, as a group of four students pass by them, coffee in hand, coming out of the shop behind them.
Out of the corner of her eye, Meg notices them staring at the two of them, whispering to each other. What they say, she doesn’t know, nor does she particularly care.
The Trapper shifts slightly before turning around and beginning to walk away, once again, without a word.
“Hey!” Meg calls out, stumbling over her feet slightly to catch up to him. “Are you even listening?”
“I’ll take it off when we get to the estate.”
“Estate?” Meg asks. “What estate? Do you even know where you’re going?”
“I know where we are,” he replies, his words clipped and short.
“Well then where are we going?”
Silence answers her question, and even despite that, Meg continues to follow him.
They begin to turn down different streets, pausing every now and then as the Trapper seems to figure out a way to go, but the sheer confidence that is radiating off of him keeps Meg following him without question.
He stops, looks around, looks at the sun, the streets, then decides on a direction.
She has no idea what’s around here, and if the Trapper knows something, then he is better off than she is, and the way he’s acting proves he may know something she doesn’t, so she doesn’t question his ability now.
They continue like this for awhile, Meg losing track of time with the only thing telling that they’ve been walking for awhile is the sun. It is now higher in the sky, burning into her skin.
Multiple times she almost wants to stop and savor this feeling of warmth, safety, and peace that rests on her skin with the warm sun, but she tells herself she’ll have more time for that later.
But in reality, deep down, she knows she just doesn’t want to piss off the Trapper again, not that he’s done anything too horrible, but there’s a part of her that feels like she’s pushing her luck.
She’s not dumb, and she knows how she can be.
Stubborn, or headstrong, or “too much” as some people would like to say as she was growing up. She pushes people, but she always figured the ones who stayed were worth it in the end, but now, she knows he isn’t worth it, but she also knows first-hand what he is capable of.
So instead of questioning, she walks.
If this is real, Meg thinks, she will have plenty of time to enjoy the sun, and for right now, she will act as a little duckling and follow the Trapper to wherever he is going.
They turn corners and begin walking down what look like abandoned streets with their boarded up buildings and broken down cars.
A pit begins to form deep in Meg’s stomach, screaming for her to get out, and yet she continues to follow, slightly tripping over her feet.
They continue like this for a few minutes before they are met by more and more trees along the path, making Meg slow her walk.
The way the trees sway in the wind like broken arms, looking only half alive with their wilting branches and dry bark give her an uneasy feeling, much like the creeping tingly feeling that would tickle its way up her spine every time she started a trial. The stillness of the leaves doesn’t make their trek into the woods any easier as the background noise begins to fade.
Here there are no sounds of cars, traffic, or people; the only thing that fills Meg’s mind are the steps the two of them take, and the beating of her own heartbeat like thunder in her head.
As they make their way deeper, the trees, though having no leaves, begin to bend together on each side of the road, encompassing them and stealing away any light that may want to peak through.
Meg’s heart drops. The farther they get into these woods, she realizes, like the Trapper, she knows where she is too.
Though she’s only ever seen this place in the darkness, she knows she isn’t mistaken.
“Why are we in the woods? Macmillan? From the trials?” she asks, stopping and refusing to go any farther, her feet now firmly planted to the ground.
The Trapper stops but doesn’t turn around to face her which almost seems worse in her eyes. His voice is low, wavering, and very much uncertain, though she can’t see his face, she can hear it in the way his voice almost cracks when he talks.
“I told you I knew this place,” he clears his throat, looking straight ahead once more, “It’s the only place I figured I could go.”
Meg’s brow furrows slightly.
“Because of the trials?”
The Trapper lets out a small laugh at this, causing Meg’s body to shiver, the hairs on the back of her neck standing straight up like a startled cat. She almost says something else before he interrupts her thoughts.
“No. My name is Evan MacMillan.”
Meg’s heart sinks into her stomach.
“MacMillan, the trials in those woods and in those buildings, those were all a part of my home, where we are close to now. Though, I suppose it’s not my home anymore.”
Meg doesn’t say anything, she simply stands there, eyes wide and heels ready to run.
“I don’t quite know why we are here, or why we were put here, but I knew where we were the instant I got out of those woods.”
A sliver of her mind for a second, a very brief second, wants to go run and tell her fellow survivors, her friends, that MacMillan was actually the Trapper’s map, or as she could call him, Evan’s map.
Through the years, they had found clues, little tokens and charms, and etchings in the metal decorating the trial locations that tell them the name, or at least it gave them something to call it to differentiate the dozens of trial locations from one another.
MacMillan, they thought, or at least Jake and Claudette thought, was a metal company.
She almost smirks thinking that they were wrong about something for once.
Not that she ever wanted to prove them wrong, she couldn’t, but they were always so sure about how right they were, and now she knows something they don’t.
And goddammit, she misses them.
Her stomach twists like a knife was plunged deep into her core as she is taken back to her current situation, not even knowing if she’ll ever see her friends, her family, ever again.
Instead, she is standing here, staring at the Trapper who she just learned is really Evan MacMillan, in the real woods around the real MacMillan maps, without her family and friends to help her.
She never knew she could feel so alone ever again, and yet here she is.
“I can’t be here,” she says, slowly backing away from Evan.
“Suit yourself, you’re the one that wanted to stay together,” Evan responds, his voice now back to normal with no more of the hesitation he exhibited earlier.
“How was I supposed to know you lived here?” Meg hisses, gesturing her hands towards the woods before continuing, “I just wanted to find out where we were…not…” her voice trails off.
“Look, if you just listened-”
“No, I don’t want to listen! At least not to you of all people!” she yells. “I just want things to go back to making sense! I want a logical explanation and to just find out how to get home…”
Evan pauses, though his chest starts heaving up and down once more, reminding Meg too much of how he looked during the trials.
“You talk of things making sense,” he starts quietly, “do you have any idea how much this whole situation, and this world does not make sense to me?”
“Do you honestly think I care?” Meg spits at him, “All you ever did was make our lives a living nightmare! Why would I ever think about how you might feel in all of this?”
Her heart sinks slightly knowing that she crossed a line. It was a line she doesn’t regret crossing, but it was a line nevertheless. They are not the same, and she honestly doesn’t care what he might be feeling. He has been through the same trials she has, but it was different, it has always been different. He did something to deserve that place in the trials, whereas she did nothing but go on a run one day.
It was just a run…
But she can’t think of that now, so she thinks back to Evan.
Nothing could ever compare to what him and the Entity made her and her friends feel over and over and over again for so many years.
He could never imagine.
So instead of apologizing like every fiber of her being is telling her to do, she stands there, nostrils flaring and heart racing, ready for whatever will come next.
“You survivors made our lives just as horrible,” he starts, “you have no idea what we had to deal with, and now I’m here with your incessant attitude.”
“Well now what?,” Meg says, crossing her arms. “We are stuck here together and-”
“You seem to be under the impression that I want you here,” Evan lets out a dry laugh, void of any humor interrupting her. “I never asked you to follow me, nor do I need you here. You may do as you please now that you’re not trapped in a nightmare of my doing any longer.”
“If you are going to say one more thing to insult me, I don’t need to hear it. I’m going home. Follow me or not, it makes no difference to me.”
Evan turns from her, continuing on the path through the dense trees.
Does she want to go with him?
But should she?
Again, she has no idea.
So she stays, glued to the spot, until Evan becomes shadowed by the lack of sunlight and becomes a silhouette being eaten by the trees.
Her throat is dry and her eyes well with tears as she makes her decision and spins on her heels, trudging through the dirt to find her way back to town.
She knows he was right, he didn’t ask for her to follow him, but there was that part of her no matter how much she didn’t want to admit, he was the one thing in this world that was certain.
In the years she knew him as the Trapper, she knew she would see him as he was stuck in the Entity’s world just as much as she was.
And now they are both out in this strange world they have both been gone from for so long, even if his time away was much longer.
Pushing Evan out of her mind, she tries her hardest to retrace her steps from before they got into an abandoned part of town, and back into the busy streets filled with shops and cars and people.
A hand flies to her stomach as it lets out a loud growl, something she hasn’t felt in a long time.
In the Entity’s realm, they never felt hunger or thirst, or really any natural bodily functions except for sleep. They slept, and they felt fear day in and day out. That was it.
She almost forgot what it was like to feel hungry.
As her eyes scan her surroundings, she finds a bench next to a broken down park across the street, and without another thought, she crosses the road beelining to the bench.
She needs to sit and come up with a plan before losing her mind.
In that order.
As much as she wants to wonder if she would find food with Evan, that thought is pushed from her mind from her current situation.
Evan isn’t here, nor should he be.
It is her, and only her.
It’s not like this is the first time she has been out on the streets trying to find something to eat with no money.
She always managed.
She can manage now.
She reaches the bench that begins to look like a beacon in the growing light of the afternoon, and so she sits.
As she sits, her muscles practically scream in reprieve, and not quite realizing how tired she was, she just decides to close her eyes for just a moment.
Just a moment until she can figure out what to do next.