A Gamer's Guide 417 (Patreon)

Rafiloe took a look at the rest of them. “Try to stay back a little.” She opened the door, and the second she could feel the cool air rushing in from the bedroom, Lett burst into tears. Acting faster than she had all morning, she shut the door and placed her back to it. “Lett,” she barked, “who is in that room?”

“Father,” he said, a look of exultant joy on his face, a Christian at rapture, eyes gleaming and glittering with certainty. “Father is in there.”

“Did you see him?”

“No.”

“How do you know, then?”

“I could smell him,” Lett said, so simply, so airily, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Deep breaths, smiling lightly, and then, abruptly, his head jerked to face her, eyes widening as hope turned to desperation. “Please, open the door, I have to see him, I have to…” He grabbed her by the arms, but by that point, it was too late, as she saw the hope, the faith, every drop of certainty he’d held, instantly melt out of him, replaced by a soul-crushing despair so deep she couldn’t see the bottom. “Oh. Oh.” That was all he said. “He’s—” Saying nothing more, his knees dropped out from under him, Rafiloe only barely of sound enough mind to follow him down to the floor, her arms now catching his, watching in wide-eyed horror as the despair dripped from his eyes, staining the front of his gown. “Ah. Ah. Ah.”

“It’s okay, it’s alright,” she muttered, unsure how tightly to hold him, if a hug would be suitable right now or if he was okay. If he screamed, she decided, she’d be okay with it. She wouldn’t even plug her ears. “I’m here, I’m right here…” He muttered something. She couldn’t hear what. “What is it?” She leaned in closer, until her ear was right next to his lips.

“Again,” he said.

“What?”

His eyes rolled to face her. The tears had dried up. “Again. We have to know how this works. We can’t permit anyone else to feel this, this…” Words failed him, but she could see exactly what he meant. His eyes told more than his lips ever could. “We have to, Gecko.”

“...Okay,” she said. “Yeah. Let’s try again.” Now they knew it wasn’t the sight of him. Not alone, at least. His smell was part of it. Maybe even his touch. He was like a single drop of tar on a wedding dress. Every part of him would stain, would tarnish. 

Since his legs failed him, she had to pull him to his feet. Arm across his shoulders, she carried him to the room. He swallowed thickly as she opened the doors again. It was a good thing she was carrying him, or else she knew, as certainly as she knew anything, that he wouldn’t have been able to bear the sight of Kitty. His whole body shook something awful. But she’d need both hands to close the door. And so, setting him down on a chair next to the door, she pulled the heavy wooden door closed again. 

“Um,” Kitty said, sitting cross-legged on the bed. His eyes slid from Rafiloe to Lett, and back to Rafiloe. “Everything okay? What’s the current—”

Lett sprang across the floor and in a single leap bodyslammed Kitty down onto the bed, wrapping his arms around him tightly as he gave a howling shriek of pure unbridled joy, the warbling noise so incomprehensible Rafiloe couldn’t tell if it was more of a scream or a laugh. Kitty, in return, responded by first going completely still, sort of like a wooden board. And then, face perfectly neutral, he began to struggle weakly, but to no avail. Lett’s hold was fast. There would be no escape. 

Finally, after ten seconds, Rafiloe realized that maybe she ought to do something, and so, trepidation keeping her from full haste, she made her way over to the bed. Lett had, at this point, began openly sobbing into Kitty’s chest, both his arms and legs snaked around Kitty. And all of a sudden she got the eerie sense that Kitty felt like dying, or being killed, or some combination of the two. Anything other than what he was currently getting.

“Lett, would you please—” she said, but she didn’t have time to say any more before Kitty pointed a finger-gun at himself and promptly burst into a swarm of rats, all spreading across the bed in one big tidal wave. 

Lett scrambled atop the mound of rats, desperately grabbing at them, moaning “No, no, Father, please, don’t go, not again, please, you have to stay,” as he bunched more and more rats into his arms. Generally speaking, though, the rats seemed entirely disinterested in staying on the bed, spilling down the side of the bed and lazily scuttling across the floor with ease. Rafiloe watched them run between her legs, across the floor, anywhere they could possibly go, and only when Lett was all alone atop the bed did she realize that maybe seeing his father disintegrate into rats might not have been the most sound thing for a kid to witness. 

Gritting her teeth, Rafiloe climbed atop the bed, and without really thinking about it, threw her arms around Lett. “It’s okay,” she said. “Let’s go, come on.”

He nodded weakly against her chest, mumbling incoherently. And as she held him, a dizzying nauseating sense of disreality came over me. All of a sudden, I just couldn’t find it in me to give a shit. What was even happening anymore? Right as I thought I’d figured my life out, this goes and happens. Ah, this sucks. 

“He’s not here,” Lett muttered to me, keeping up the experiment, reporting his findings. “I know he’s not here. He never was. There’s only you, and me, and…”

Atop the bed, there was a presence. I hadn’t noticed it at first. It was just kind of sitting there, an absence in the world; a dim, hollow emptiness where there was supposed to be color and things. I couldn’t make it out. A hole in fog. But I knew at once who it was. And even though I really wanted nothing better than to crawl into bed—any bed, frankly—I knew I had to do something. 

But acting when there was no rousing feeling in your chest was a bit harder than I’d expected. Normally, I suppose, I’d be a bit worried at the fact that I didn’t care all that much about what was going on anymore. But I didn’t even have that in me. 

The only reason I was able to pull Lett off the bed and towards the door was because I had the sense that, being his friend and all, I ought to. It’s what friends do. Help each other and all that. Be there when needed. 

So I took Lett, I asked him if he was okay, I pretended to care when he told me he was, and then I led him to the door, each step bringing me further and further away from the abject nothingness.

I pulled open the door, stepped outside, and then she closed it behind them, making sure it was fully sealed. A single breath of the dry hallway air brought on what felt like a lifetime of explosive emotions and fracturing feelings, the worst of all being the heart-stopping realization that for all of three minutes, she hadn’t felt a thing—and, even worse, she hadn’t felt even slightly upset at it. 

Lett fell out of her trembling, suddenly powerless arms, only barely being caught by Garath in time. “Are you alright?” he asked, worry incarnate, his face pinched up, clearly feeling, clearly having the emotions necessary to care. “Lett, speak to me.”

Lett muttered something at him but Rafiloe couldn’t hear it. She couldn’t hear anything. Not even Maggie taking her by the shoulders and shaking her, asking something, saying something, was enough to get through the cotton-thick thoughts that repeated in her head, over and over again, what the fuck? what the fuck? what the fuck? what the fuck?

Maggie’s arms clasped around her, and she could hear her, distant, so, so distant, like the rumble of thunder a thousand miles away, “You’re okay, you’re alright. Breathe, Gecko. Breathe.”

And she did. She gulped down heaving breath after heaving breath, desperately trying to keep herself on her feet, but it was no use, her knees kept folding and her heart kept pounding, worse than her headache, worse than an earthquake. 

Maggie let her fall. Let her collapse to the carpeted stone floor. Let her fall into her chest, into her bosom, into her arms. “There, there,” she said, weakly, trying so hard to say the right words. “What happened in there, Gecko?” And then, soothing, so kindly, “You don’t have to go back in there. Please, try to—”

Try to what? The mention of the room brought fire back to Rafiloe’s chest and she sprung to her feet, out of Maggie’s strong arms, her back thumping against the door. “Haah, haah, haah, haah…” She gulped, thickly, her trembling eyes moving between the people in the hallway, finally falling on Garath, still cradling Lett in his arms. “Don’t—don’t let him in again. Don’t let anyone in, but,” she turned to Prop, feeling the cogs moving in her head, “go get Leion. And have him bring the most devout hope-a-filiacs he can find. The type of people who would’ve liked to become rats.”

Prop shifted where he stood. “It’s no trouble, of course, but I would like to know why—”

“Now!” Rafiloe barked, taking no glee in the way her sudden shift in tone made him flinch.

“...Yes, Gecko. It will be done.” He turned around, and made it about three steps before he suddenly stalled, giving her an odd look before continuing. “I hope you’ll pardon this, but… If memory serves, did you say you were his apostle now?”

Rafiloe chose to ignore the way the people in the hallway finally absorbed that she had, indeed, said that. “It’s complicated, but yes, technically speaking.”

“I see. In that case…” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Would you prefer to be referred to by your title? Your Hopeship?” He frowned at the taste of the title. “Or maybe your full title—Apostle of Hope—would suit better. Hopekin?” A strange light entered his eyes. “No, hopekin would be too strange… Hopeful… Hopestress… Hopetrix? Then again, I doubt it needs to be feminine, it could be neutral, or even masculine… hmm…”

Now she knew how Kitty had felt, mere minutes earlier. “In private, you can just call me Gecko.” But since society tended to care about titles… “While you go get Leion, try to figure out a suitable title. I’ll have it for a long while, so make sure it’s a good one.”

“Yes!” Prop said, with more gusto and enthusiasm than she had ever seen on him. “I will figure it out, Apostle of Hope!” Satisfied with her answer, Prop practically bounded down the hallway, out of sight, out of mind.

Rafiloe swirled on her heel and put a hand on the door, only failing to open it as Maggie’s hand fell on her shoulder.

“I hope you’re not planning on—”

“I have to,” Rafiloe said, eyes affixed to the door. “He’s in there, and he’s in a state. He needs me.”

“Does he? Does he really need you so much that you can’t take a minute or so to breathe?”

“Yes, he does,” Rafiloe bit out. Her grip on the door tightened. “And every second I spend out here is a second I could be spending at his side, putting him back together again.”

But even then, Maggie wouldn’t let go of her. Her grip was strong, and steady, and…

“I believe she might be right,” Garath said, several meters away. His gaze, pink-eyed and hard, drilled into the both of them. “For the past few minutes, I haven’t been able to hear his thoughts.”

“...What?” Rafiloe said. “Not at all? You’re sure?”

He nodded. “If my seeing him hadn’t been the cause for so many issues, I assure you I would have rushed in there myself.”

“It’s good that you don’t,” Rafiloe said. “Lett needs you more.” She drew a deep breath. “I’ll take care of him.” Angling her head, she was able to catch Maggie’s eye, giving her a meek smile as she did. “Thanks, Maggie, but… I have to do this. Don’t worry—I’ll be fine, I promise.”

Maggie squeezed her shoulder. Still frowning, still uncertain, but… “Yeah. Alright, Gecko.” She mustered a hopeful smile. “Good luck in there, okay?”

Rafiloe patted her on the hand. “Thank you—I’ll do my best!”