“Where is she?!”
Splashes of water could be heard as Thomas dashed through the forest, out of breath, as he desperately searched for the sound. In the mist, he could now see the familiar illuminating blonde hair blowing through the heavy rain, with her body lying down against the ground. Thomas continued to push and struggle through the middle of the storm. I have found a small space within the forest. There, he saw Layla holding a shovel beside her, as she dug out what appeared to be dirt from the ground. When I approached it, it looked like a hole. He noticed a nearby object beside her as he stepped closer...
And closer... as the thunder in the sky roared a deafening
BANG!
As Thomas stumbled forward, his breath caught in his throat at the sight before him—a wooden box-like casket lying in the middle of the forest clearing, raindrops splattering against its surface. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut, his heart plummeting as dread took hold of him.
“A c-casket...?!” Thomas stammered, his voice barely audible over the howling wind. His legs trembled, his mind reeling from the horror of what he was witnessing, but he forced himself to move, to take a step closer to the grim sight before him. With each hesitant step, the figure inside the casket came into view—a girl with pale, lifeless skin, her eyes closed as if in a deep, eternal sleep. The sight made his blood run cold, and his worst fears crystallized into a nightmarish reality. He recognized her immediately, even in the dim light of the storm. “BEATRICE!” he screamed, his voice raw with fear and despair. His heart pounded wildly, and a surge of adrenaline propelled him forward.
He ran, skidding through the mud and rain, his eyes locked on the lifeless figure of Beatrice lying in the casket. As he reached her, Thomas collapsed to his knees, his arms trembling as he reached out to pull her body from the casket. He cradled her limp form in his arms, his hands shaking as he gently lifted her head to rest against his chest. His heart raced with terror, the fear of losing her threatening to overwhelm him.
"Beatrice! Beatrice, wake up!" Thomas cried, his voice breaking as he desperately tried to rouse her. He pressed his ear to her chest, frantically checking for any sign of life—a pulse, a breath, anything. His fingers brushed against her cold skin, searching for the faintest hint of warmth. Behind him, a soft, eerie laugh cut through the storm, sending chills down his spine. Thomas whipped his head around, his eyes wide with disbelief as he saw Layla standing just a few feet away, her expression twisted into a grotesque mask of amusement.
"Oh, Thomas, you found us! How mighty of you," Layla said, her voice dripping with mockery. Her eyes gleamed with a sinister light as she watched him, her laughter echoing through the trees.
“BEATRICE, WAKE UP!” Thomas sobbed, his voice cracking as tears streamed down his face, mingling with the rain that poured from the sky. His grip tightened on Beatrice, as if he could will her back to consciousness through sheer force of will. But she remained still, unresponsive, her body heavy and lifeless in his arms. “Don’t be silly—she’s still alive. She’s just unconscious,” Layla remarked casually, as if they were discussing the weather. Her indifference only fueled Thomas’s rage, his despair morphing into a burning anger.
“Is this what I think you’re trying to do?! Bury her alive?!” Thomas shouted, his voice hoarse with fury. The thought was unbearable, the idea that Layla could have planned something so monstrous—it made his blood boil.
“How genius of you, Sherlock,” Layla sneered, her tone dripping with sarcasm. She stepped closer, her eyes never leaving Beatrice’s unconscious form. “When I realized that you were following me when I was about to drown Beatrice in the seas of Whiteshore, I figured that it would be better if I could cancel the whole thing and make a better plan than that.”
Thomas’s heart pounded in his chest as Layla’s words sank in. He could barely comprehend the twisted logic she was spewing, the casual way she spoke about her vile intentions. He held Beatrice tighter, his knuckles turning white as he fought to keep his composure. Layla continued, a twisted grin spreading across her face. “I thought, why not... Go back to my shack—make a wooden casket—set the entire mansion on fire—get Beatrice unconscious—put her in a car—hide away in the middle of the forest—and bury her six feet deep? That sounded magical, right?”
Thomas’s mind reeled, his thoughts a chaotic whirlwind of horror and disbelief. The image of Beatrice being buried alive, trapped in the darkness of the earth with no way out, was too much to bear. He clenched his fists, his anger boiling over as he glared at Layla with a mixture of hatred and desperation.
“You’re insane!” Thomas spat, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and fury. “You’re completely out of your mind!” Layla’s smile only widened, her eyes gleaming with a malevolent delight. “Oh, Thomas, you don’t understand. This isn’t insanity—it’s genius. It’s poetic justice. Beatrice deserves to be buried alive for what she did. And you... You were supposed to be too late to save her.”
“Are you insane?!” Thomas’s breath hitched, his heart aching with a pain so intense it was almost physical. He looked down at Beatrice, her pale face so still and serene, as if she were already slipping away from him. For a moment, Layla didn’t respond. She just stood there, her eyes locked onto Beatrice’s still form, her face pale and expressionless. The twisted smile that had been playing on her lips moments ago was gone, replaced by a haunted look that Thomas had never seen before. The storm raged around them, but Layla seemed oblivious to it, her mind lost in some dark place that Thomas couldn’t reach.
Finally, Layla spoke, her voice barely a whisper. “Maybe I am,” she said, her tone so soft that Thomas had to strain to hear her over the noise of the storm. “Maybe I’ve been out of my mind for a long time.” Thomas froze, the anger in his chest suddenly tempered by confusion. He had expected more of Layla’s taunts, her cruel sarcasm, but there was something different in her voice now—something that sent a chill down his spine.
Layla’s eyes met his, and for the first time, Thomas saw something there that made his breath catch: vulnerability. Her gaze was hollow, her eyes shadowed with a deep, unspoken pain that went far beyond the twisted actions she had taken tonight. “You have no idea what it’s like, Thomas,” Layla continued, her voice cracking with emotion. “You have no idea what it’s like to carry this weight, this... this darkness inside of you. To live every day with a mind that’s constantly at war with itself.”
Thomas blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift in Layla’s demeanor. The fierce, calculating woman who had threatened to bury Beatrice alive now seemed fragile, broken in a way that he couldn’t quite understand. The storm still raged around them, but for a moment, it felt as if they were the only two people in the world.
“What are you talking about?” Thomas asked, his voice softer now, the anger in it replaced by a tentative curiosity. He didn’t trust Layla—not after everything she had done—but there was something in her eyes that made him hesitate, that made him want to understand.
Layla let out a bitter laugh, the sound devoid of any real humor. “You want to know why I did all this? Why have I gone to such lengths to hurt you, to hurt Beatrice?” She shook her head, a tear slipping down her cheek, unnoticed by her. “It’s because I’ve been hurting for so long, Thomas. I’ve been drowning in this... this black hole of pain and fear, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t escape it.”
Thomas watched her, his mind racing. He wanted to hate her, wanted to see her as nothing more than the villain in this nightmare, but as he listened to her, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy. The anger that had fueled him moments ago began to ebb away, replaced by a deep, uneasy sadness.
Layla’s gaze dropped to the ground, her expression crumbling. “Because I didn’t know how else to deal with it,” she confessed, her voice shaking. “I’ve been broken for so long, Thomas. I’ve been through things... things you couldn’t even imagine. I’ve been betrayed, abandoned, and left to pick up the pieces of my shattered life. And I guess... I guess I thought that if I could make someone else feel my pain, then maybe—just maybe, I wouldn’t feel so alone.”
Thomas’s chest tightened, a lump forming in his throat. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to respond to the raw confession that Layla had just laid bare before him. Part of him still wanted to lash out at her, to scream at her for everything she had done, but another part—a part he hadn’t expected—felt a deep, aching sorrow for the woman standing before him.
“What happened to you, Layla?” he asked quietly, his voice barely audible over the storm. “What made you like this?” Layla’s shoulders trembled, and for a moment, Thomas thought she might collapse under the weight of whatever burden she was carrying. But she remained standing, though just barely, her arms wrapped around herself as if trying to hold herself together.
“It doesn’t matter,” she whispered, her voice filled with a weary resignation. “What happened to me... it doesn’t excuse what I’ve done. I know that. I know I’ve become someone... something terrible. Thomas—I didn’t choose this. I didn’t want to become this monster.” Thomas’s heart ached at the rawness in her voice. “But enough of all that unnecessary drama.”
Layla’s laughter echoed through the trees, chilling Thomas to the bone. “I have a rope along with me,” she taunted, her eyes gleaming with malice. “Plus, there’s a lot of tall trees to hang myself on anyway. If Beatrice and I were to die, you’re quite lucky, because you are just about to join us now that you’re here.”
Thomas gritted his teeth, ignoring the pain from the shovel wound on his leg. He had to keep moving, had to protect Beatrice. He hoisted her off the casket, adrenaline surging through his veins. But Layla was faster—her shovel swung, striking Thomas’s leg, and he stumbled, Beatrice slipping from his grasp and falling back into the casket.
“STOP!” Thomas pleaded, desperation clawing at his throat. He lunged at Layla, but she was relentless. Blow after blow rained down on him, the metal edge of the shovel biting into his flesh. Darkness crept at the edges of his vision, and he fought to stay conscious. Then came the sickening thud—the metal connecting with his skull.
BANG!
Thomas collapsed, the world spinning. He could hear Layla’s footsteps retreating, the sound of her shovel digging into the earth. Beatrice was still in danger. Crawling, pain searing through him, Thomas closed the gap. Thunderclaps drowned out his ragged breaths. “Come on,” he whispered, fingers brushing Beatrice’s cold hand. “Hold on.”
Layla’s voice cut through the storm. “Y’know, Tommy, I’m just tired from all of you. So, so tired. I just wanted Beatrice all mine, but eh, you’re a silly little cockroach, managing to find us here.” Thomas clenched his jaw. “I’m not alone here. The detective and the others are looking for you, too.” Layla scoffed. “The forest is too big, Thomas. They’ll be here when the show is over.” She drew closer to Beatrice, eyes gleaming. “And finally—the moment I’ve been waiting for!”
Thomas pushed himself, ignoring the pain. “Goodbye, Beatrice.”
But then Layla raised a knife, and Thomas couldn’t bear it. He lunged, punching her leg, but she stumbled, the blade sinking into his flesh. “Ow!” he cried out, crawling away. The shovel lay nearby, his only chance. He reached for it, adrenaline masking the pain.
“I’ll finish you!” Layla’s rage was palpable. She swung the knife, but Thomas dodged, grabbing the shovel. The thunder roared as he struck her, the world blurring.
BANG!
Layla fell, blood mixing with rain-soaked earth. But she wasn’t done. The knife found its mark again, agony radiating through Thomas. He screamed, tears blurring his vision. Layla leaned close, whispering, “See? No one will hear you. The storm is way too loud. We are in the middle of the woods, far from town. No one will find you. No one will find us. You have nothing but a pathetic weakling, and I will let you bleed out here until you die.”
Thomas fought back, desperation lending strength. The knife pulled away, and he dropped the shovel. Layla smiled weakly, standing. He pressed his hands to his wounds, eyes on Beatrice. He had to protect her, even if it meant bleeding out in the rain-soaked forest.
Rain poured down, a relentless curtain that blurred the edges of reality. Layla stood before Beatrice’s casket, her knife glinting in the storm’s eerie light. Her heart raced, torn between vengeance and redemption. The past haunted her—the twisted path that led her here, to this desperate confrontation. Thomas, battered and bleeding, crawled toward them. His voice was raw, pleading. “Layla,” he gasped, “we were friends once. Remember? Before all this madness.”
Layla’s grip tightened on the knife. Hatred and love warred within her. She had lost so much—her sanity, her innocence, and now Beatrice. But Thomas... he was a fragment of her past, a reminder of who she used to be. “Beatrice doesn’t deserve this,” Thomas continued. “None of us do. Layla, you were kind once. You cared. There’s still goodness in you.”
She wavered. The blade trembled in her hand. Redemption seemed impossible, yet Thomas’s words echoed through the tempest. Could she change? Could she let go of the darkness that consumed her?
Beatrice’s face, pale and fragile, haunted Layla. She had been a pawn in this twisted game, a casualty of Layla’s obsession. But now, as the rain washed away blood and tears, Layla questioned everything. “You don’t have to do this,” Thomas whispered. “We can find a way out of this nightmare. Together.”
Layla’s breath hitched. The storm raged, mirroring her inner turmoil. She glanced at Beatrice, then back at Thomas. Memories flooded her—a childhood laughter, shared secrets, stolen moments of joy. Could she reclaim that lost innocence? The knife wavered, its blade catching the lightning’s flash. Redemption or revenge? Layla’s choice hung in the balance.
“Remember who you were,” Thomas urged. “Not the monster you’ve become.” Layla’s internal battle raged on, her trembling hand holding the knife aloft. The storm howled around her, mirroring the tempest within. Thomas’s words echoed—redemption or revenge?
She shook her head, tears mixing with rain. Beatrice lay defenseless, her eyes wide with terror. Layla’s past, twisted and broken, collided with the present. She had lost so much, but perhaps there was a way back. In that moment, Layla made her choice. She hesitated, then plunged the knife downward.
“LAYLA, NO!” The shovel swung, striking her leg. Layla stumbled, the knife slipping from her grasp, falling out of reach. “ARGHH!” Thomas’s cry was primal as he brought the shovel down on Layla’s head. She crumpled, unconscious. The forest held its breath, rain washing away blood and guilt. Thomas dropped the shovel, trembling.
His wounds throbbed, relentless. He pressed his hands to the gashes, but the bleeding persisted. The storm raged, thunderclaps like judgment. Layla lay sprawled, her twisted desires silenced—for now. Thomas crawled toward Beatrice, her still form a fragile beacon of hope. He sat beside her, tears mixing with rain. The forest whispered secrets, and Thomas wondered if anyone else would find them here, in this desolate place.
He sobbed, torn between relief and despair. Thomas clung to Beatrice, praying for salvation. The rain poured down relentlessly, drumming against the earth like a thousand hammers. The cold seeped into Thomas’s bones, the icy sting of the wind cutting through him as he fought to stay conscious. His body was failing him, his blood seeping into the mud as he pressed his hands against his wounds, desperate to stop the bleeding. Every movement sent a jolt of pain through him, but he couldn’t afford to stop—not now, not when Beatrice’s life hung in the balance.
He searched through his pockets, hoping against hope that he might find something—anything—that could save them. His fingers trembled as they came up empty, his heart sinking deeper into despair. There was nothing but fabric and blood, his lifeblood slipping away with every passing second. He felt the weight of hopelessness settle over him like a shroud, the bitter realization that there was no help coming. In a last-ditch effort, he reached for Layla’s pockets, his movements frantic as he searched for anything that could send a signal, call for help, or offer some glimmer of hope. But his search was futile; there was nothing but emptiness.
“Empty, empty, empty! I’m doomed...” Thomas muttered through gritted teeth, his voice breaking with frustration and fear. The overwhelming sense of failure gnawed at him, and in a moment of blind rage, he punched his chest, cursing himself for not being able to protect the people he loved.
But then, something hard met his fist—a small object hidden beneath his clothes. Thomas froze, his breath catching in his throat. With a trembling hand, he reached inside his shirt, feeling the cold metal of something that had been pressed against his skin this whole time. He pulled it out, his eyes widening in shock as he realized what it was. “The golden whistle necklace!” he gasped, the small heirloom glinting faintly in the dim light. Mrs. Williams had given it to him two months ago, and in all the chaos, he had completely forgotten about it.
Without a second thought, Thomas brought the whistle to his lips and blew as hard as he could. The shrill sound cut through the storm, piercing the darkness with a desperate plea for help. He blew again, and again, each whistle a cry of desperation, a last hope that someone, anyone, might hear him and come to their rescue.
The sound echoed through the forest, but the only response was the relentless pounding of the rain and the rustling of leaves in the wind. Thomas’s heart sank, his hope dwindling with each unanswered call. He was alone, utterly alone, with no one to hear his cries but the empty woods and the storm that seemed to mock his efforts.
“Come on, please...” he whispered, his voice breaking as he continued to blow the whistle, his cheeks aching with the effort. But with each attempt, the sound grew weaker, his strength fading with it.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Thomas’s strength gave out. His hands fell limply to his sides, the whistle slipping from his grasp and landing softly in the mud. His breath came in ragged gasps, his body trembling with exhaustion and pain. He had given everything he had, and it hadn’t been enough.
With a heavy heart, Thomas turned his gaze back to Beatrice, lying motionless in the casket. The sight of her, so still and pale, tore at his soul. He reached out with a trembling hand, his fingers brushing against the cold wood of the casket as he leaned forward, pressing his head to her chest. The silence was deafening, the lack of her heartbeat a stark reminder of his failure.
“I’m so sorry, Beatrice,” Thomas whispered, his voice thick with tears. “I tried... I tried so hard. I tried to save you, but I failed. Both you and Layla. Please forgive me...”
His tears mingled with the rain as he cradled Beatrice closer, pressing a kiss to her cold forehead. The memories of their time together flooded his mind—her laughter, her smile, the way she made everything seem brighter, even on the darkest days. He had wanted to spend his life with her, to share in the joy and the sorrow, to build a future together. But now, all of that was slipping away, lost in the storm that raged around them.
“I still wanted to watch our favorite show together,” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the rain. “Laugh with you, share my life with you—but maybe in another life, this would all be a dream, and we get to finally be together.”
As he spoke, Thomas felt his strength draining away, his body growing weaker with each passing moment. The world around him began to blur, the edges of his vision darkening as he fought to stay awake. But it was a losing battle; his body was giving out, his will to fight slowly slipping away.
With a final, trembling breath, Thomas whispered, “I love you, Beatrice.”
He raised his head one last time, sitting back upright beside the casket, his body swaying with the effort. He laid his head against the wood, his vision fading as the darkness closed in around him. The storm seemed to quiet, the sound of the rain softening as his senses dulled. He was slipping away, the last vestiges of his strength ebbing away like the tide.
Then, just as he was about to close his eyes for the last time, he saw it—a faint, distant light, glowing through the trees. It was soft at first, barely noticeable, but as he stared at it, the light grew brighter, cutting through the darkness like a heavenly beacon.
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