Playmate

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 4: ᴘᴇʀsɪᴇ

You exhaled, freeing the burden of worry from your system.

Tristan pressed his back to the wall close to the tub and crossed his arms, looking empty.

You went to the door and sat on the floor, back on the door. The deafening stillness made you restless.

"Now what?" You asked.

"We wait," he responded.

"For what?"

"Three o'clock."

"What time is it?"

Tristan shrugged his shoulders. "We don't use that to know what time it is."

Your brows knitted in confusion. "But you said three o'clock, so I assumed you know what time it is now."

"I did," he said nonchalantly.

For a moment, you waited for a clearer answer but got nothing out of it. "I don't understand you. I don't know what's happening. Can you please tell me anything at least?"

The space between the two of you wasn't huge, but the subtle movement of his eyes rolling at your plea did not go unnoticed.

"It's a really long story, and I have a part to tell, but the others not mine to share. What I can tell you is that we let the game end. We hide, not show our faces to Aeron. When the clock makes that loud sound again, it means we're safe to come out."

"And what if he sees us?" You interrupted.

He halted for a while before resuming, as though suddenly reminded of something. "Then he locks you in the closet."

The fear of darkness has bothered you when you were younger, but when it was said so casually like that, being locked in a dark space didn't sound so threatening.

Averting your gaze from him and to the floor, you drew your knees closer and contemplated. You could hear your own breathing hitting the fabric of your clothes, the warmth breath seeping through and spreading over your skin. When you looked up to Tristan, his head was tilted towards the ceiling, back still against the wall, with his eyes closed.

Looking at him felt like gazing through a pair of goggles. Your heart beat against your chest - that was real. Still, the situation was becoming a haze. Your mind was trying to process how this came to be. It just took a snap of darkness to bring you to different reality. Who wouldn't feel disconnected?

"How long have you been around here?" You inquired, to push away the pressure of silence in your ears.

"I don't know..." He detached himself from the door and sat on the floor, his legs spread out.  There was a shadow of depression on his visage as his palms supported his forehead when he leaned forward.

Not knowing what else to say, you just fell to silence, your eyes lingering on his gloomy position. Your eyes traveled from his dress shirt down to his black shoes. Somehow, his footwear reminded you of Doyle. Whenever he went to work, he was clad in his white coat and trousers, with a shabby dress shoes for his feet. Your father didn't care much for his appearance, but you always thought that he looked cool while he handled those complicated medicines in work. His writing was your ideal penmanship before, but looking back now, you smiled at your ridiculous desire.

You wondered if any patient died from a doctor's scruffy pencraft.

You heard a quick dash of a pair of small feet followed by a high-pitched giggle. She was from outside, in the corridor, running past. But it stopped and she approached the door.

Tristan's eyes snapped at you and gestured you to come to him. Quietly, you crawled to his spot near the tub .

The knob rattled. 

"Is anybody there?" A little girl asked loudly as Tristan made a space for you to sit beside him. "Can I hide in there too?" She toyed with the door and stopped. A subtle shadow was cast through the small gap below the door. The girl was trying to peek inside.

Breathless, you grabbed Tristan's sleeve and gripped it. 

After a heart-throbbing moment, she skipped away and a giant door swung open from somewhere outside and shut close, with a bang.

"That's Emily," Tristan spoke, and you let go of his sleeve. 

"Why can't we let her in?" You asked in a hushed voice.

"This is her game. She's meant to play with Aeron only. You and I, we have different games to play with him."

"What does it mean it's 'her game'? I don't get it."

He looked away, thoughts running behind his gaze, and brought it back to you. "It's unfortunate I'm stuck with you. I hate explaining things."

You grinned.

"You owned a doll," he stated more than asked. "How did you get it?"

A little bit surprised, you scooted away subtly just to gain your personal bubble, and he too glued himself to the wall of the tub as though you would infect him. "I had other dolls-"

He waved it off. "You know what I'm talking about. A small doll like Aeron, with black hair and eyes and dressed up like a brat."

"Oh, that doll." Your stomach lurched. "...my sister gave it to me."

He remained silent.

"Tha-that was years ago. She moved off to college. I just display it around the house. Why?"

"That was mine," he said. "My mother bought it for her daughter." He paused and swallowed quickly. "Yeah, that's all. My point was that what we have in common, and that little girl just a while ago, was because of that doll. Get it now?"

The pieces were there, but you didn't have enough to make a full puzzle.

"No, because why are we here? Is it... is it a demon-possessed doll?" You asked, voice softening at the last segment.

He almost laughed but forced himself to be serious. "It has a history to it. I wouldn't call it demon-possessed."

"Well? Tell me more! I don't know anything about this."

Tristan stared at you, then shook his head. "You're lucky to be with me. I didn't have anyone around to answer things for me. In fact, I think it's unfair. The only we can do now is wait."

You looked around the bathroom. "We're just gonna stare at each other?"

He crossed his arms, stoic. "You're making me uncomfortable right now."

At that, you shut your mouth and avoided his gaze. A second after, you just had to speak. "I'm not doing anything."

"You're doing it right now," he said.

Baffled, you threw him a look.

"I hate explaining, that's what I said. Just listen to me, understand? I want you to experience this and find the answers yourself." When he deemed your reaction unsatisfied, he said, "I'll explain it after you play your game. That way, I can explain it easily."

~

When time seemed to move slowly, you felt your eyelids ready to shut close. Elbows on your knees, you were barely holding up as your hands struggled to carry your sleepy face.

Tristan had slept for a while, you thought, for he kept his eyes close. He was in the tub, sleeping on his back, like a body in an open casket. His face was like a mannequin's, perfectly preserved for public viewing.

Disturbed, you cleared the thoughts from your head and yawned, tired. Heavy-eyed, you blinked like a sluggish owl, yawning yet again. The thought of sleeping back in your room felt so pleasing. You wondered if your mom figured out that you were gone. Although Persephone's passing has been years ago, your heart wrenched at the thought of worrying them. 

Doyle was not getting any younger and he was prone to lash out and break down, from work, and worse when he assumes that you too are gone.

The joints from your elbows dug into your thighs, causing discomfort. You felt too lazy to even move your arms for a more comfortable position. Your face didn't want to lift itself from your hands. However, the stress from your femur ached that you had to shift your elbows. While still carrying your head, your arms moved to your kneecaps, where they rested heavily.

But your fingers lost its security on your jaw, causing your head to plummet down and shock you awake. Alert, you lifted your head back up and sat straight, wavering a little.

Tristan was already awake and had just witnessed your little blunder. "The clock didn't ring yet?"

"No," you answered quickly, trying to fight off the urge to sleep.

"Just sleep on the mat if you have to," he proposed, observing you.

You heard the striking of a Grandfather's Clock tolling twice, eerily echoing in corridors and empty rooms.

"Emily's game is over," Tristan informed with his eyes on the door.

The strong chiming of the Grandfather's Clock stroke again. It rang thrice, disturbing you alert.

He got up from the tub and helped you to your feet. When the two of you stepped out into the corridor, all traces of sleep had been washed out from your system as you thought over 'your game' with Aeron. Walking beside Tristan was comforting. It was good to have a companion. In unknown situations like this, it's good to be with someone.

At the end of the corridor, you gripped the door's handle and twisted it, hearing the sound of a click. Eventually, the two of you entered the living room, with the fireplace still alight with warm flames. You could hear it crackling as you two arrived on the porch, which led to three paths.

But you stopped on the way.

Aeron stood before you with a wide smile, a proud one. His hollow eyes glimpsed fleetingly at Tristan, then to you. He approached Tristan first, offering him a pleased expression as he shook your companion's hand. They were about similar in height, but with Tristan standing rigidly, he looked to be taller.

"Wow, you two met already," Aeron praised. "I thought I would have to introduce you to her after the game."

You observed Tristan as he grimaced in disgust and pulled his hand back from him.

"You just had to pull in another one," Tristan said gravely, his voice deep and low.

Aeron stared at him with disregard before addressing you. "[F/n]." He spanned his arms wide and  swept you in a hug, his chest pressing to yours. Oddly, there was no warmth from his body. Rigid, you touched his back lightly to show you reciprocated it. He pulled back with a nice smile. "It's time I introduce you to the others."

"After this, I can go?" You asked gently, only for him to shake his head. Tristan pretended not to listen.

Aeron smiled, his eyebrows rising slightly. "After this," he spoke soothingly, "you'll see how the game goes. But may I suggest? Questions later please. I like the silence."

You nodded and Aeron led the way. Tristan walked behind him, so you did too, making sure to be closer to Tristan than the doll-looking man.

With light footfalls, Aeron led the two of you to the door on the left, with another Grandfather's Clock at its side, ticking away towards 3:30. He opened the door to another living room, but it was smaller compared to the previous lounge that you had been. There were two sets of furniture arrangements again: two couches faced each other with a coffee table in between them, and the same layout on the other.

On the right set of furniture, there was a little ginger-haired girl on the couch, asleep. You felt a mini heart attack when said girl suddenly blinked open, her eyes wide, revealing hollow blue hues. She sat up. Immediately, she burst out in tears and let out that pitchy voice you heard from earlier.

You looked to Aeron and Tristan but neither of them seemed to care as Tristan merely occupied the other couch, away from her. You approached the girl and asked what was wrong.

She paused to look at you. There was an outline of trauma from her supposed young gaze that made you shudder. Then, she proceeded to cry and was inconsolable no matter how much you tried.

"She never stops crying unless we're playing a game," Aeron said to you, hand on your shoulder to tug you away gently. "She's too young to understand."

"Understand what?" You muttered. "Did you do something to her?"

"No, but something had happened to her." His focus shifted to someone behind you and he said, "Ah, Persie."

You swiveled around out of curiosity.

The individual just entered the room, unsuspectingly, and headed straight to the crying girl. She was quick to comfort her, and you watched, frozen.

Her hair was still the same long and wavy brown hair that it had been before she left. She was paler than you remembered. But when she spoke to the girl, your heart leapt up to your throat, mixed feelings provoked as you slowly treaded towards her.

When you finally reached her side, you gasped and put your hands over your mouth, eyes brimming with tears. "Persie..."

Persephone was cradling the girl by her side like a big sister, like she had with you. Upon meeting your gaze, she too froze, and arched her brows. "Yes?"

"Pers, Persie, hey..." You took her hand, clutched it. A wave of pain paralyzed you for a moment before you could blurt out your words. "You don't recognize me?"

Her eyes lingered on your face, as long as it could, and you stood there hoping and willing until she can process who you are - were - to her. Then, they shifted to Aeron, and she said, "I'm sorry, I don't think we met."

A boiling feeling of confusion and anger molded in you as you faced Aeron. "Who the hell are you? What did you do to her!"

A kind expression formed on his face. "I saved her."

You charged at him, breathing heavily, crowded with emotions evoked from past wounds, but it didn't make sense. Aeron stepped back. The anger lingered but you calmed yourself down. 

"I-I don't understand this. What's happening? Why is she here!" You gestured to Persephone angrily, who was looking dumbfounded at the exchange.

Tristan watched, and Aeron and him exchanged a glance.

Aeron clasped his hands before him and said, calmly, "[F/n], your sister has been dead for years. Where do you think you are?"