They each contemplated the possible scenarios on their own, ruminating on the implications of being used by such a maniac. The question would remain without answer for now, however: as she approached, Kaycee interrupted their collective brainstorming session.

“You guys alright?”

“Yes. Sorry about the noise,” Noah said, forcing himself to put on a smile. “Did you find anything upstairs?”

“A shattered window and the big bird who did it. It had huge dark wings, but it went too fast before we could really see anything - though Xavier claims it was either holding somebody, or…”

“Or was it a winged person?” theorized Noah.

“Yeah…” Kaycee said as she frowned. “How did you know?”

“Just a wild guess,” he said. He didn’t like lying about it, but telling her the truth now would have done more harm than good, he thought. No need to put the rest of the group on edge.

“Okay. Listen, we are going to light up a few more candles, just as an extra security measure. We should have enough firewood to keep the place warm through the rest of the night, which will give us a chance to rest. Jake gets a couch, he needs to heal up. Karim gets the second one because he’s the only one with any medical training, so he needs to be as sharp as possible. Everyone else, grab a blanket and find a comfortable spot to sleep. We’re all sharing this room tonight.”

“What about the beds? There must be mattresses we can use, aren’t there?” Isaac complained.

“Maybe, but they’re a no-go. We can’t drag them here. With all the fire around, it’s an accident waiting to happen. Besides, it’d make too much noise and we don’t want to rile up the Corrupted more than they already are. Sorry, buddy. Safety above comfort.”

Without another word, she left them on their own as she sat against the couch, looking out the window while wrapping herself with a polyester sheet. She tried to wear a neutral face, but there was a very palpable tension in the air - once again, Isaac had proved to be a nuisance more than he was helpful with his whining.

“Let’s get some rest,” Noah said.

He would spare him the conversation for now… or perhaps he wanted to spare himself from his friend’s inevitable outrage. He expected him to refuse the criticism, be defensive or outright deny there even was a problem to begin with. No, Noah thought. Better wait until I’ve had a little rest. I don’t have the patience to deal with him right now, and losing my temper won’t help him understand.

As soon as he closed his eyes, he could feel himself slipping out of consciousness. Random thoughts initially crossed his mind. He was still aware enough to understand that what he imagined didn’t make sense. The floor was hard and uncomfortable, which led him to think about that one time when, many years ago, he and some friends went camping into the woods. He was messing around, having fun with the people there. He lifted the small foam mattress he had brought over his head when an unexpected gust of wind made him drop it and made it fly into the lake nearby. He had to sleep directly on the ground, and the all-too-thin fabric of the tent didn’t make it any more comfortable. He didn’t really mind nor complain about it, at least not until the next morning, where he noticed he had slept on a small branch for a whole six hours. The bump had left its mark on the skin of his belly and it hurt like hell for days. His friends had made fun of him for at least a week after the event but he didn’t mind: he laughed with them, able to recognize the ridicule of his own suffering.

Then he wondered how his childhood friends were doing. He had lost contact with them over time since high school, but they still talked from time to time. Were they still alive? He hoped so. Maybe they, too, had to sleep on a hard surface, devoid of all comfort, doing what it takes to survive. Then he thought about Kaycee, how she’d tell him to stop complaining, that he was only uncomfortable because it was safer that way.

His mind slipped further into delirious slumber. He wished he had the couch for himself but, of course, he couldn’t feel sorry for himself: Jake had it much worse than he did. If the branch hurt him back in the day, it was painful to merely imagine how much all of the torture hurt the boy. The young fellow certainly did not deserve that. What would the Jester do if he caught them again? Was he really helping them? No, don’t think about the Jester. It’s better to think about the floor.

It’s not too bad either. It’s just a hard surface. It would be much more uncomfortable if the ground was on fire or something. He dwelled on the word fire for a few seconds. It reminded him of that strange place he had been the day before. Where the girl he had killed had been waiting for him. Thinking about her was fine: he was absolutely scared of her, but he accepted the emotion. He was guilty, it was his own fault. There was a lesson to learn by being repeatedly exposed to her hate.

Hate? Of course she hated him. Why wouldn’t she? But that, too, was fine. He almost wished to be dragged in that plane of existence. He wanted to see her again. He would tell her how sorry he was for ending her life. He wanted to repent.

Yes. Thinking about her is much better than thinking about the Jester. But the more he tried to avoid thinking about the Jester, the more he ended up thinking about him. By the time he was fully asleep and dreaming, the despicable clown was now the main subject of his nightmare.

Looking around, he recognized the stench of rotten food and decaying corpses. The scene was plunged into the deepest shade of darkness, yet he could clearly distinguish everyone. The Jester was on his left side, about four meters away from him. On his right side, the young girl he had killed stood there, in seemingly perfectly good health, save the gaping wound on her forehead and the blood on her face.