Alone. He was alone, and it was his own fault. The townspeople were gone, the plants were gone... Fletcher knew all of this even though he was nowhere near a position where he could see them. He was sitting in a corner of his and Russel's laboratory, the one that in reality, had been destroyed nearly a year ago. But it was here now, and he was there, the tables and windowsills lined with potted plants, beakers, microscopes, vials of a deep red liquid, and the brothers' notes, the papers detailing their research and methods for completing their father's work. Their methods for destroying a village.
The image was seared into his mind's eye. The gas had leaked up from underground and overtaken the town overnight, and though he hadn't even gone outside, somehow he could still clearly see the people he'd hurt. He could see them coughing and gasping for air. Coughing up blood and then choking on it. And the worst part of all was that it wasn't just the townspeople he remembered from home. The other members of Stacy's crew were there. Tess was there, and Vivio, and all the other children he'd met. Captain Kirk, and Kang, and even people he only knew by name and reputation. All of them had suffered a painful death because Fletcher had been too weak to stop it.
And even Russel. He'd gone down to the spring not long ago to seal it off. Fletcher, coward that he was, had remained here in this corner, curled up on himself. And he knew that Russel, too, had been taken. He'd heard the coughing and gasping somehow even from here. And then, even worse, the sound of the coughing had stopped, and Russel was gone. All his fault. All of it was Fletcher's fault.
The gas was still rising upward, and soon, it would reach him here on the third floor of the mansion. He didn't even question how he knew it to be true; it was going to happen, and that was what mattered. Soon he'd be like the rest, coughing until he'd want to rip his own throat out, before mercifully falling unconscious. Fletcher whimpered and buried his face in his knees. He didn't want to die, but someone like him deserved no less.
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The image was seared into his mind's eye. The gas had leaked up from underground and overtaken the town overnight, and though he hadn't even gone outside, somehow he could still clearly see the people he'd hurt. He could see them coughing and gasping for air. Coughing up blood and then choking on it. And the worst part of all was that it wasn't just the townspeople he remembered from home. The other members of Stacy's crew were there. Tess was there, and Vivio, and all the other children he'd met. Captain Kirk, and Kang, and even people he only knew by name and reputation. All of them had suffered a painful death because Fletcher had been too weak to stop it.
And even Russel. He'd gone down to the spring not long ago to seal it off. Fletcher, coward that he was, had remained here in this corner, curled up on himself. And he knew that Russel, too, had been taken. He'd heard the coughing and gasping somehow even from here. And then, even worse, the sound of the coughing had stopped, and Russel was gone. All his fault. All of it was Fletcher's fault.
The gas was still rising upward, and soon, it would reach him here on the third floor of the mansion. He didn't even question how he knew it to be true; it was going to happen, and that was what mattered. Soon he'd be like the rest, coughing until he'd want to rip his own throat out, before mercifully falling unconscious. Fletcher whimpered and buried his face in his knees. He didn't want to die, but someone like him deserved no less.