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shiningamongdarkness · 2 years

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Chapter 49. Let them go

Shining among Darkness

By WingzemonX

Chapter 49. Let them go

Once the police let them go, Matilda, Cody, and Cole inevitably ran into each other again at the hospital entrance, even though their last conversation had practically been a goodbye. The air between them had become particularly awkward. Furthermore, the exhaustion was more than noticeable on their faces and postures. The only thing Matilda wanted in those moments was to get to her hotel, bathe as best as possible that her wound would allow, and sleep… also as best as that horrible wound would allow.

But before all that, she would have to prepare everything for her departure to Arcadia, to rest for a few days at her mother's house until her health improved. With her arm in this state, it was not advisable to fly, so her most viable option would be a train, which would take perhaps more than a full day to arrive in Los Angeles.

And about her rental car, another complication stood in the way of the psychiatrist's immediate wishes. Due to all the medications they had given her, including the anesthetic that had put her to sleep, and additionally her immobilized right arm, it was also not recommended that she drive, although the distance between that point and her hotel was not so long. However, Cole offered to do it for her since they would be going to the same place anyway. Matilda accepted in a somewhat cold way.

"I'll be staying in Salem, too," Cody pointed out, taking his two companions by surprise.

"Are you sure?" Matilda questioned uncertainty. "What about your…?"

"There's no way I can sleep without having nightmares tonight," he said with some regret. Then he felt his jacket, specifically the pocket inside it, making it sound like a rattle. "I'll have to use my pills. Besides, I'm too exhausted to go all the way to Seattle."

Matilda and Cole said nothing to him. They hoped that he really knew what he was doing.

The drive to Salem was really quiet. Cole had his sight fixed on the road, Matilda was staring thoughtfully out the passenger window, and Cody was fighting not to fall asleep in the backseat; the last thing they wanted was for one of the professor's vivid illusions to appear in front of them right there in the middle of the road. Neither said much, no more than a few random comments, most coming from Cole and none from the Californian woman beside him.

Once they reached the hotel and Cole parked the car in the parking lot, Matilda bolted inside, only offering a terse good night without looking at them. She entered the reception area before anyone stopped or spoke to her, and they quickly lost sight of her. Cole got out soon after, slamming the door with some force as a sign of frustration.

"Remember, it's rented," Cody muttered in a muffled voice, getting down as well. "At least you didn't kick it like that chair."

"I need a drink," the policeman murmured, running his hand over his face.

"I believe you. But I have to see if I can get a room, so…"

Cole waved a hand in the air, signaling him to go confidently. Cody took him at his word and entered the hotel through the same door Matilda had gone through. And once again, Cole was left alone.

He stood to one side of the vehicle for a while, thinking of what to do. Would he go for that drink by himself? Would he take that cigarette he hadn't been able to, or perhaps wanted to, smoke all night? Or would he follow the example of his friends and go straight to sleep? The last option didn't appeal to him, but the first two might.

He took out his pack, took a cigarette between his lips, lit it without hesitation, and began to smoke it calmly, trying to calm down... if that was even possible. After all, nothing in all that situation was worthy of inspiring calm.

He raised his gaze to the starry Salem sky, letting the smoke slowly billow out of his mouth and settle over him like a dirty gray cloud, obscuring the stars for a few moments. Thus it felt as if he had a great dark cloud over his head, waiting for the best moment to drop a heavy rain on him and perhaps some lightning.

"You should consider quitting smoking," he heard a voice abruptly to his right, taking him so by surprise that he jumped to the side in alarm. "It won't do you any good in the long run," added the same voice.

The rugged, somewhat square face of the late Dr. Malcolm Crowe turned to him, offering him a curious, mocking smile. Recognizing it, Cole's initial shock lessened, though it became more of an unusual strangeness. Twice in one day; it was uncommon for Cole to see Dr. Crow so often, not since he was a child.

"Is it a real warning?" It was the first thing that occurred to him to say, although the ghost only answered him with a subtle shrug. A little more confident, Cole leaned back against the car next to his unexpected visitor, but his attitude turned slightly rougher. "Did you know this would happen? The escape, the death of that woman, Eleven…?" Crowe didn't reply. "You could then have warned me much more clearly."

"You know..."

"That it doesn't work like that, yeah, yeah," Cole finished, just before taking another deep drag on his cigarette.

He, more than anyone else, knew that some of the dead could see much further than the living, even into the past or the future. But it wasn't like turning on a television and sitting down to watch a movie. As was the case with those shine ones who had a particular affinity with seeing or feeling what would happen, the information often came to them in pieces, which had to be put together and interpreted later. And yet, there were other times when they could know or sense that something was going to happen, but they didn't have the ability, or perhaps the permission, to pass that information along, even to those like him. So recriminating to that being, who shouldn't even be in that world anymore, for what happened was totally meaningless. The actions of the living were solely the responsibility of the living themselves.

"Do you at least have any advice on what I should do now?" He asked him, somewhat hopeful that Dr. Crowe could at least give him some guidance, as he had in many other moments when Cole had felt just as lost.

He heard him sigh, and a cold sensation ran through the place from below to above. Crowe was looking toward the door through which his two new friends, if he could still call them that, had left. His expression was concerned, quite tangible, coming from the face of someone who had died years ago.

"Go home, Cole," he exclaimed suddenly. "Stay away from this, like your mother asked you to."

"Go?" Cole snapped, almost as if the innuendo insulted him. "Just so? Is that your advice?"

"That's the only one I can give you, as your psychiatrist and friend."

Cole snapped, apparently not too pleased with what he was hearing. He returned his cigarette to his lips and inhaled again with some insistence. Although, he noticed how, little by little, that ceased to relax or calm him as much as he needed.

"And if I do… will this all work out?" He questioned, intrigued, without looking at his visitor. "Will everything be alright?" He raised his eyes at that moment to the door, which seemed to him for a moment more distant than before. "She will be alright?"

In his head, the warnings that his mother had given him hovered:

"This case in which you have been involved is more dangerous than you think. You have to leave as soon as possible, get away from this whole thing. Or else... you'll die... and she too..."

Unfortunately, however, Crowe did not have a satisfactory answer to ease his doubts.

"I don't know, Cole," the late psychiatrist murmured ruefully. "I don't think there is anyone living or dead who can assure you of such a thing. Not this time... not with this enemy you've gotten involved with."

Cole quickly lifted his face and turned it squarely on him, intrigued and surprised by the sudden mention.

"Are you talking about who attacked Eleven? Do you know who he is?"

He was unable to hide his urgency to find out. That person, the threat that had lain over his head like that deadly rain cloud. Did he know who he was? Did he know who that hidden enemy was? Cole was sure beforehand that he wouldn't tell him if that was the case, but he still couldn't help but question it. The result, however, was as expected.

Crowe slowly shook his head, not seeing it.

"If I told you, you'd try to go straight for him, wouldn't you?" he responded in dismay, and Cole could not deny it. "It is your decision whether to do it or not, but I refuse to deliberately push you in that direction; your mother wouldn't forgive me. Besides, he's not the only one you have to watch out for, but you already know that."

Cole exhaled heavily through his nose and leaned back against the vehicle. The disappointment was quite palpable, even his anger. But Crowe was adamant about his answer, and he couldn't blame him for being. Cole himself wasn't really sure what he would do if he had that information at hand.

After a while in which both remained silent, the spirit took a few steps away from the vehicle and turned to the detective with a calmer and more serene face.

"I have to go," he informed her bluntly. "I've been here too long already. I don't think we'll see each other again for a long time."

"Didn't you say you'd be around if I needed anything?" Cole commented in a slightly jocular tone. "I feel I'll see you sooner than you think."

Crowe gave a light chuckle at the suggestion.

"It may be so." He smiled at him. "See you later, Detective Sear."

"See you later, Dr. Crowe."

After that last friendly goodbye, the psychiatrist turned around and began to walk as if he were going to enter the hotel as well. However, halfway there, he disappeared, fading into the background and completely taking his presence with him, including the cold.

Cole stayed there a while longer until he finished his cigarette. He didn't think carefully about the hidden meaning of those words, what had happened, or what his following action would be. He just stood there, finishing his cigarette and thinking about that drink.

— — — —

Matilda gave up her idea of taking a full bath at that point due to her injury and just washed her hair and part of her body, just enough to make herself as comfortable as possible. The medicines still had her in a daze, so once she finished her improvised wash and barely managed to put on her pajamas, she lay in bed for a few moments, looking at the ceiling as if it was the most fascinating thing in the world. She forced herself not to stay like this for too long, and she immediately took her cell phone with the intention of… she really didn't know what she wanted to do.

Her first instinct was to investigate what to do with her rented vehicle, but then she thought of Eleven, Mike, and her daughter. Should she call them to find out how she was doing? She didn't know if she would be too intrusive. And, on top of that, she wouldn't know what to tell them that could be comforting; she was terrible at those things, which was not a remarkable quality for a psychiatrist.

Then she thought about her mother. Shouldn't she call and tell her what happened? She would otherwise end up arriving at her door out of nowhere with a gunshot wound to her shoulder. But if she told her what happened on the phone, she might upset her even more...

She sighed in frustration and pressed the screen of her phone against her forehead as if hoping it would help her think. She inevitably remembered Cole and Cody and that she had maybe been pretty rude to both of them a few moments ago. They hadn't done anything, and they were just as affected by all this as she was. And instead of reaching out to them with a helping hand, she had chosen to run away… Yes, that was the best way to describe it.

What kind of psychiatrist was she? At that rate, she would have to go to therapy herself, and everyone knows that doctors make the worst patients. She might have to apologize to both of them before she leaves in the morning, especially to Cole. They had already started to get along, and she suddenly returned to her rough attitude out of the blue.

But anyway, by that day, it was too late. Perhaps the best thing would be to sleep, rest, and worry about the rest the next day...

Then she suddenly heard someone knocking on the door, taking her by surprise. She flinched a bit, and her movement caused a nagging pain sensation in her shoulder. She waited a bit for the pain to subside, and then she carefully stood up and approached the door, almost without thinking. In fact, she was about to just open it directly, but before touching the knob, she thought twice. Hadn't there been too many misfortunes that day to be so reckless? She then decided to look through the peephole first to see who it was. That, however, did not help her much to calm down.

Standing in the hallway outside the door was Cole, looking to the side as he waited for some response from her. Matilda backed away from the door a little as if it had frightened her. What was he doing there? Has something happened? And how did he suddenly appear just when she thought of him? And… why was she reacting so nervously exactly?

Matilda breathed slowly, trying to calm down. That reaction was immature and irrational. With more courage, she removed the chain and lock, opening the door wide enough. Cole turned to her as soon as the door opened and smiled, apparently a little timid and uncomfortable. Before saying anything, the detective raised what he was carrying in his right hand: a six-pack of beers, one of which was already missing.

"Would you like a beer before bed to make amends, doctor?" he suggested with a jocular tone.

Matilda looked at him sternly but not too severely. He didn't look drunk as such, but she felt he had more than one beer on him. Even so, she was surprised, and at the same time a little embarrassed, how despite everything he behaved so lightly with her, wanting to "make amends" as if everything was slipping away from him. Either he was a person with a good emotional balance, or it was another one of his masks.

"Sorry, I don't drink alcohol," she replied, trying not to be sharp. "And even if I did, I couldn't mix it with my medicines."

Cole just smiled and nodded a little.

"I had a feeling that you would tell me just that…" he murmured, pointing at her with a cunning gesture. "Sorry for the interruption. Goodnight…"

He made a dismissal gesture with his head, and without another word, he turned around with the clear intention of returning to his own room.

"But…" Matilda said forcefully, drawing his attention before he left. The doctor seemed to debate with herself again for a few moments, but in the end, she opened the door wider and stepped aside. "Come in if you want. I guess we could both use a little talk."

"Will you charge me for the consultation?" the detective asked playfully, to which Matilda responded only with a questioning look. Choosing then not to continue tempting fate with jokes, Cole accepted the invitation.

The officer entered the room, and Matilda closed the door behind them.

— — — —

Cody lucked out and got a single room for the night, though it cost a lot more than he expected. He hadn't brought pajamas with him, so he just took off his shirt and pants to sleep in his underwear. He didn't have a toothbrush, either. And, actually, he hadn't even eaten anything, although for some reason, he wasn't hungry; in fact, his stomach felt queasy.

He didn't take a shower, just washed his face and soaked his hair a bit. Then he lay down on the bed, resting his head on a tower of three pillows to be almost sitting up, and turned on the television for a few moments. He didn't pay much attention to it; he had it more like background noise so as not to sink into silence.

The professor's blue eyes focused more than anything on the orange bottle with those magic pills that guaranteed him to be able to sleep all night without any dreams or nightmares, at the cost of practically not resting. But God knows what else unknown side effects could come on suddenly. He wondered if he really needed them; maybe nothing would happen, maybe he cared too much... But he knew that he was fooling himself.

Cody knew very well how his mind worked, and he knew there was no possible way he could get through the night without some horrible nightmare accompanying him. Whether it was the Canker Man, Lily Sullivan, or a horrendous, misshapen dark mass eating Eleven without him being able to reach her. Whatever it was, it would materialize through the corridors of that hotel, putting all guests in danger.

So, not taking that pill was not an option. Still, he had been staring at the bottle for about half an hour, waiting for something in his label to change and tell him not to do that.

He sighed wearily, placed the pills on the nightstand, and took his phone instead. He reviewed his conversation with Lisa. He had texted her twice after what had happened at the hospital and tried to call her once he was in his room. Lisa didn't respond to any of those things and didn't show up as she logged in for hours.

Cody tried not to let that bother him, especially when he had ignored her a few days after her discussion; perhaps it was her way of getting back at him. However, their last conversation had him unsettled, especially about what Lisa could do with the information he had shared with her. Not that he expected her to tell anyone, but maybe she just wouldn't take it well. He might not hear from her for days, and when he finally located her, it would be to end it all on bad terms.

He suddenly felt somewhat selfish and foolish for thinking about it at a time like this. Eleven was in a coma, people had died, Samara had disappeared, Matilda had been shot, and they had no idea who this mysterious enemy was that was haunting them or whether sooner or later it would come back to attack them again. By comparison, his concerns felt a little small... but not unimportant.

Without quite consciously proposing it, his hands opened the bottle and took out one of those small pinkish oval pills. He gazed at it for a few seconds in his hand, somewhat fearfully, only to be shoved right into his mouth, followed later by a small sip from the glass of water that rested on the nightstand.

It was done.

He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling while the television and light were still on. His vision and mind soon wandered, and the sounds on the TV distorted and confused. From one moment to another, he wasn't exactly asleep, but his body no longer moved; his eyes didn't really look at anything, and his ears didn't hear any sound either. He was simply there, reclining, his bald eyes unable to close, while his mind disappeared overhead. In a way, that feeling was like a nightmare, but at least it was one that only tormented him… as it should be.

— — — —

Cole sat on the floor mat to one side of the bed, quietly sipping his beers. Apparently, the fact that Matilda rejected them was not a reason for them to go to waste. For her part, the room's guest sat on the bed with her legs stretched out. While he drank beer, she settled for one of the complimentary bottled water and bag of peanuts that came with the room; these last ones she had placed on the bed cover so that they were easier to take with her free hand.

"He didn't know he was dead? Really?" The psychiatrist questioned skeptically. Before Matilda was aware, her casual conversation had quickly turned to the subject of ghosts. She supposed it was pretty common in a conversation with friends over beers and appetizers on nights to start talking about spirits and demons out of the blue. But this occasion was special because she was doing it with someone who was supposed to be more than an expert in the field.

Cole took a sip of his second (or third?) can before answering her.

"It's not that weird, actually," he explained. "I think I had already told you about it, but when death is violent and sudden, the transition from one state to another is so abrupt that the souls become confused, and they cannot process the entire experience. From that moment on, they live their day to day without realizing the passage of time or those things that contradict the reality they want to believe. It doesn't happen every time, but it is common."

Surprisingly, the officer spoke quite fluently and eloquently despite already having a few milliliters of alcohol on him, perhaps even more eloquently than he did when he was sober.

"I don't get it," Matilda pointed out, just after popping a peanut into her mouth. "Do you want me to believe that he was unaware that his wife, or anyone else, wasn't speaking to him or even aware of his presence?"

"I told you," Cole shrugged, "they interpret the passage of time and reality as best fits what they want to believe. You are a psychiatrist; you must understand it better than me. As in the aftermath of a traumatic experience, some memories are blocked, and realities are created to protect themselves."

"And does that apply to ghosts as well?" Matilda questioned, arching an eyebrow.

"So it seems."

"How interesting," muttered the brunette, somewhat sarcastically. "If I had met you before, I could have done my thesis about the psychology of the dead."

Cole laughed, amused by her jovial comment.

"I don't think many in your line are ready to take that idea seriously. Like you, for example," he pointed at her with the same hand that held the can.

"Do you think I'm not taking this seriously?"

"You do?"

No, she didn't really… or at least, not entirely. But right now, she felt much more open to considering the possibility. Quite a few uncontrollable things had happened in the last few days, in which her pride and arrogance hadn't been much help. And after learning more about Detective Sear, she didn't see why he would cheat or lie. Besides, it's not like she was going to solve the mysteries of life and death that very night; it was just a pleasant chat between friends. And perhaps, hearing more about how he saw this world of wandering spirits, she would understand a little what was hidden behind his mask of cheerfulness and carelessness.

"And you knew he was a ghost?" Matilda asked, trying to get back to the story they were talking about.

"Not at first," Cole replied, moving his head slightly to one side, then the other. "Now I have learned how to recognize them, and mainly to feel them. At least most of them... But back then, I could only trust their appearance and the cold that accompanied them. The first two times I saw him, I didn't feel the same as with others, but I could tell as I spent more time with him. Well, it also helped that my mom never mentioned she wanted me to see a psychiatrist. And once I mentioned it to her, I realized she didn't know what I was talking about. After that, I was able to see him in his actual appearance."

"And what was that?" Matilda asked with genuine interest.

"Basically, he looked so normal, but for some reason, many wandering ghosts who haven't crossed to the other side yet, are usually seen with the appearance they had the moment just before they died. In Dr. Crowe's case, he was shot in the abdomen, and his shirt was covered in blood. As far as it goes, he was the most minor terrifying thing I saw at the time."

"And he didn't realize it?"

"What? The blood stain? I suppose not. I go back to what I said before: they deceive themselves. But when I realized what he really was, I was not afraid of him like the others because I never felt threatened by him. He really wanted to help me, and he succeeded. He..." Cole paused for a moment, staring at the opposite wall, losing himself a little in that thought. "I think he was the first real friend I ever had… and he was already dead."

Although, at first, she joked a bit with the idea, in reality, Matilda began to find that point a bit interesting. The idea, hypothetical or not, of studying the states of mind that a deceased person passed through would be a totally virgin field in which there would be much to discover. Although, if that was in any way possible, she could bet that someone else, with the help of someone like Cole, had already done something similar without ever publishing it or passing without drawing much attention from the scientific community, for obvious reasons.

Matilda took a small sip from her water bottle as she thought about this. Leaving aside the professional (or pseudo-professional) nature of the matter, there were some other implications inherent in the possibility of speaking with the dead, some of a more… personal nature, but which she refused to give a definite shape in his head. As if that embarrassed her.

"And you told him?" Matilda asked suddenly after that moment of silence, taking Cole a little off guard.

"Excuse me?"

"Did you tell that man he was actually dead?"

"No…" Cole hesitated. "But I gave him a little push so he would figure it out on his own. After that, I didn't see much of him, so I assumed he had crossed over to the other side. Once every few years, though, he reappears to give me some advice, as if he were my personal Obi-Wan.

His "Obi-Wan"; that statement brought back to Matilda an old memory. She looked thoughtfully toward the door and picked up one more peanut from the pile next to her.

"When a soul crosses to the other side... can it return to this world?" she asked suddenly, with some hesitation in her tone. Cole turned to look at her, puzzled. Not because of her question but because of how she had asked it.

"Only on infrequent occasions, and I think only with people like me," he replied more seriously than before. "That is, with the proper Shining to communicate with them. But they never stay long. Being on this side is sometimes painful. Why do you ask?" Cole turned fully to her, looking at her with curious eyes. "Are you thinking about that doctor who jumped off the roof or Mrs. Morgan?" Matilda continued to stare at the door without saying anything. "Or in Carrie White?" Matilda remained silent, although her face made a little frown, similar to how her stomach hurt.

Cole then started to get to his feet, as dexterous as the beers he'd had would allow, and sat down on the edge of the bed. Matilda didn't stop him. The detective looked at her seriously, like a parent about to lecture a child; one fair but severe.

"I'm the least suited to say this, or perhaps the most depending on how you look at it," he stated calmly. Matilda looked at him just a bit. "But it isn't good to cling to the dead" He paused to drink a little of what was left in his can and clear his head in the process. "My mother died of cancer about eight years ago… or is it already nine? Anyway, when it first happened, it was so easy… to call her before me and be able to see her and talk; pretend that she had never left. But what I was doing was wrong. I was hurting her for my selfish desires, and me the same. I understood the hard way that although it is very difficult, perhaps one of the most challenging things that can be done, the best thing is to let them go. So they can rest in peace, and so can we."

Matilda was struck by how wise and convincing those words sounded, even from someone half drunk. Although she had not been through an experience even remotely similar to the one he described, she could imagine the emotional impact that could have on an individual. Perhaps that had been part of that mask he was now wearing, but she felt that while she was listening to him, she had been able to see and hear the real Cole Sear for those moments. And what she perceived… she had to accept that she didn't dislike him. Although if he smelled less of alcohol, it would be better.

The brunette smiled without meaning to, and not sure why exactly. It had simply gotten away from her.

"Eleven was right," she pointed out suddenly, sitting up straight on the bed and moving closer to him. "You really have a perspective on all of this that I could never have or even understand. I wish I could have used it better instead of feeling threatened by your presence. Maybe things would have turned out differently…" She looked ruefully to the side.

"It wouldn't have, and you know it," Cole scoffed. "If it makes you feel any better, I also felt a little jealous when I asked about you and heard everything the Foundation people said about "Eleven's Favorite."

"Oh, God," Matilda exclaimed between giggles. "Do they really call me that?"

She had come to think that everything Cody had said to her was just to annoy her, but it seemed that it was a very real nickname.

"Don't tell them I told you," Cole asked between some laughs. "But the reputation that precedes you can be intimidating and create a lot of expectations."

"So much pressure. Well, I hope I met those expectations."

"You did," the detective pointed out with conviction, leaning toward her slightly. "And too much..."

This took Matilda a little by surprise. She felt her cheeks flush, and unconsciously she leaned back a bit as if wanting to make even a little more distance between them. Cole apparently thought he had made her uncomfortable, which Matilda wasn't sure if it had been true or not. Despite his alcoholic state (which he apparently could control well), the policeman had the clarity to decide that perhaps it had been enough for one night.

"I'd better go," he said, getting up from the bed with everything and the couple of beers he had left, staggering a bit in the process but managing to stay on his feet. "You sure want to sleep. Tomorrow you will travel, after all."

"Yes, that would be for the best," Matilda replied calmly, also standing up to lead him to the door.

"Next time we meet, you'll have to tell me about that poltergeist you saw when you were a kid. "

"I don't think so," Matilda whispered wryly. She didn't think they could ever reach that level of trust.

The psychiatrist opened the door for him, and Cole walked slowly, perhaps to avoid falling. Before he got out, however, Matilda stopped him.

"Cole, wait a bit," she whispered, placing a hand on his arm to stop him. Her eyes stared at him with some intensity. "Tell me the truth… what was it you saw in Samara?" Cole looked at her blankly. "Everything you told me about a demon haunting her… was it serious?"

Cole couldn't figure out if she was asking because she was beginning to believe him or perhaps because she was hoping he would tell her something that would clear up the significant doubts that were starting to occupy her mind. The beer didn't help him much in finding out, either. For the same reason, before saying something that could ruin that little moment they had shared, he decided to say something that perhaps was not what she expected, which was quite sincere anyway.

The officer took a deep breath and leaned against the door frame to keep from falling.

"People like Eleven and I tend to walk in the shadows so much that it's all we see at one point. But you were able to see the light in that girl and realize that there was goodness in her. Maybe that was what she needed most, really. I am convinced that if you had had the time and the opportunity, you could have saved her, regardless of what I did or did not see."

Matilda smiled thinly and leaned her head against the open door.

"That doesn't comfort me."

"I know," Cole replied, shrugging. "But unlike Carrie White or Mrs. Morgan, Samara is still alive. As long as she's alive, there's still hope, right?"

Matilda nodded slightly, not in fact entirely convinced.

"Good night, Detective."

"Good night, Doctor."

Cole backed away, swinging down the hall a bit until he reached the elevator at the end of it. Matilda closed the door carefully after he left, and she stood in front of it for a while, her forehead resting against the smooth wooden surface. She wasn't sure if that short conversation had helped either of them in any way. But something was a little more certain: she was going to miss that… "detective of the dead."

She sighed and smoothed her hair a bit with her free hand. Now she really had to try to sleep. How well Cole had said, tomorrow she had to travel.

END OF CHAPTER 49

#matilda wormwood #matilda honey #matilda #cole sear #sixth sense #cody morgan #before i wake #shining among darkness #fanfiction #wingzemonx #resplandor entre tinieblas #fanfic

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mannytoodope · 2 years

Photo

Cole: I walk this way to school with Tommy Tammisimo.

Malcolm: He your best buddy?

Cole : He hates me.

Malcolm : Do you hate him?

Cole : No.

Malcolm : Did your mom set that up?

Cole : Yes.

Malcolm : Do you ever talk to your mom about how things are with Tommy?

Cole Sear : I don't tell her things.

Malcolm : Why not?

Cole : Because she doesn't look at me like everybody else, and I don't want her to. I don't want her to know.

Malcolm : Know what?

Cole : That I'm a freak.

Malcolm : Hey... you are not a freak. Okay? Don't you believe anybody that tries to convince you of that. That's bull-! You don't have to go through your life believing that. Okay?

Cole : You almost said the "s" word.

Malcolm : Yeah... I know. Sorry.

#Cole Sear #Haley Joel Osment #Malcolm Crowe #Bruce Willis #The 6th Sense

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daily-movie-quotes · 2 months

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Day 198

February 4

I see dead people

-Cole Sear

(Played by Haley Joel Osment)

The Sixth Sense

#dailymoviequotes #movies #the sixth sense #Cole Sear #haley joel osment

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wingzemonx · 1 year

Text

Resplandor entre Tinieblas - Capítulo 133. Yo no necesito nada

Resplandor entre Tinieblas

Por WingzemonX

Capítulo 133. Yo no necesito nada

Mabel no despertó de nuevo hasta que unos agudos alaridos, reemplazados por momentos por una estridente risa, la hicieron salir abruptamente del sueño y estremecerse. Al abrir los ojos, estos fueron golpeados por la brillante luz de la mañana, lastimándoselos un poco. Lo siguiente que sus sentidos percibieron fue un dolor de espalda, provocado muy seguramente por la incómoda posición que había tomado para dormir en la circunferencia de la alcantarilla.

—No puede ser —murmuró incrédula para sí misma, mientras intentaba enfocar su mirada lo suficiente para apreciar el cielo azul sobre ella. Había dormido toda la noche; ¿cómo podía haber sido tan estúpida? Ahora tendría que moverse bajo la luz del día, el doble de expuesta de lo que ya se encontraba.

—¿Y tú qué haces ahí, muñeca? —captó de pronto la voz gangosa de alguien que le hablaba; la misma voz que al parecer la había despertado.

Al bajar la mirada del cielo, Mabel miró directamente un rostro cubierto casi por completo por una sucia y desaliñada barba oscura, y unos ojos pequeños que la miraban fijamente. Era un hombre, vistiendo ropa vieja muy sucia y desgastada, además de un gorro tejido y una chaqueta. Con las manos empujaba un carrito de supermercado, en esos momentos totalmente lleno de bolsas, latas y algunas cajas.

—¿Escapaste de casa, mi cielo? —le cuestionó aquel hombre, claramente un vagabundo, y uno muy audaz además—. Esa en donde estás es mi cueva privada. Pero si quieres la compartimos.

El canturreo que había acompañado a esas últimas palabras claramente tenía detrás una intención que no se esforzaba mucho por ocultar.

Mabel resopló y salió de la alcantarilla con un salto, para luego comenzar a alejarse de aquel sitio sin mirar ni contestarle nada a aquel extraño.

—¿A dónde vas, mi amor? —le gritó el vagabundo a sus espaldas con tono pícaro—. Si apenas iba a comenzar lo divertido.

Completó su comentario con otra estridente y socarrona risa.

Era peligroso dejar a alguien que la hubiera visto con vida, pero más peligroso aún intentar deshacerse de él a plena luz del día, y en especial utilizar las reservas de energía que le quedaban en ello. No sabía lo que le esperaba, y lo mejor era dejar el rastro de cadáveres lo menor posible, aunque a esas alturas quizás ya era un poco tarde para dicha consideración.

Mientras intentaba decidir su próximo movimiento y avanzaba hacia la escalera de servicio que la sacaría del canal y la devolvería a la calle, de nuevo una voz se hizo presente a sus espaldas, pero en esta ocasión no era la de aquel pordiosero.

—Dormir en las alcantarillas —masculló con tono burlón—. Cuando pensé que no podías caer más bajo, Doncella.

Mabel se detuvo en seco y se giró rápidamente hacia atrás. A sólo unos cuantos pasos de ella, a mitad del canal como si fuera cualquier cosa, la imagen de Rose la Chistera se hacía presente, mirándola con sus profundos ojos asomándose de debajo de la pronunciada sombra que dibujaba el ala de su sombrero.

—Lo que me faltaba —exclamó Mabel con marcada molestia—. Creía que el golpe en la cabeza me había librado al fin de ti.

Antes de que la aparición de Rose, alucinación o lo que fuera, abriera la boca, Mabel intentó ignorarla y seguir su camino hacia la escalera. La escuchó pronunciar algo, pero no le prestó la menor atención. En su lugar, trepó apresurada por la escalera, subió con cuidado por la loma y atravesó el mismo agujero de malla por el que se había colado. Sin embargo, al estar al otro lado del agujero y enderezarse, Rose ya estaba ahí de pie delante de ella, algo que en realidad no le resultó tan sorprendente.

—No has entendido ni un poco lo que está ocurriendo —le recriminó Rose con severidad.

—Lo único que entiendo es que James está muerto, y tú eres un producto de mi imaginación —le respondió con firmeza, al tiempo que le sacaba la vuelta y comenzaba a andar con paso veloz por la acera, sin ningún rumbo fijo en realidad—. Estoy sola, es probable que toda la jodida policía de esta ciudad me esté buscando, y no tengo ni idea de dónde está el mocoso paleto, Abra o cualquiera de las otras chiquillas, ni las fuerzas suficientes para intentar rastrear a alguno en mi estado actual. Y aunque no fuera el caso, no ganaría nada con ello. Lo único que puedo hacer es largarme de aquí lo antes posible, y huir lo más lejos que pueda de todo esto. Así que si no tienes una buena idea de cómo podría salir de la ciudad a salvo, mejor cállate. O mejor aún, desaparece.

—No puedes irte aún, tonta —dijo la voz de Rose de pronto, justo a su lado, como si se hubiera materializado en un instante en esa posición (y muy probablemente así fue).

—Sólo mírame —le respondió Mabel con voz astuta.

—Necesitas volver a la casa rodante.

—¿Estás loca? ¿Qué digo?, si la loca soy yo.

—El termo, niña tonta —espetó Rose, casi con violencia—. El termo con el vapor, el que la Sombra te llevó. Aún sigue ahí.

—Sí, ya había pensado en eso, gracias. Pero para llegar al parque de remolques tendría que cruzar hasta el otro lado de la ciudad y un poco más. Es muy arriesgado. Y, además, a lo mucho le quedaba la mitad del vapor o un poco más. No vale el riesgo.

—Este termo sí vale el riesgo —recalcó Rose la Chistera—. Tienes que terminar el ritual.

Aquella última frase destanteó bastante a Mabel, como si hubiera sido parte de una conversación totalmente diferente a la que estaban teniendo. Fue lo suficiente como para forzarla a detener su casi huida por unos instantes.

—¿Ritual? ¿Cuál ritual? ¿De qué estás…?

Se detuvo y se giró rápidamente hacia ella pero, similar a algunas de las veces anteriores, en cuanto lo hizo Rose ya había desaparecido por completo, como si nunca hubiera estado ahí… y también bien podría haber sido así, muy probablemente.

—Ahora sí decides desaparecer, jodida perra —soltó el aire como una aguda maldición.

¿De qué ritual estaba hablando? Intentó por unos momentos encontrarle algún sentido, pero lo desechó casi al instante. Aquello no tenía caso, porque esa no era Rose; sólo una alucinación de su propia mente trastornada. Por supuesto que terminaría diciendo cosas sin sentido como esa.

Decidida a olvidarse de aquello, comenzó a avanzar por la calle cabizbaja, intentando no llamar en lo absoluto la atención. No había nadie cerca, más allá de aquel vagabundo en el canal, así que en general resultaba sencillo. Sin embargo, no avanzó mucho antes de que un sonido más se hiciera presente en la relativa quietud de la mañana. En esta ocasión no fue una voz, sino el distintivo sonido de un teléfono.

Mabel alzó su mirada pensativa al frente, notando a unos metros lo que parecía ser una vieja, destartalada y banalizada cabina de teléfono. Posiblemente no hubiera reparado en lo absoluto en ella si no fuera por el teléfono que sonaba. Se aproximó con cautela, parándose delante de la cabina. Le sorprendía que aún funcionara. Recordaba hace ya mucho tiempo (aunque para ella había sido casi un respiro) cuando esas cosas eran toda una novedad, y ahora habían quedado prácticamente en el olvido gracias a los teléfonos celulares. Una reliquia del pasado, así como ella misma de cierta forma.

El teléfono dejó de sonar, y esa fue la señal de Mabel para seguir su camino. No dio más de dos pasos antes de que volviera a sonar, obligándola a detenerse y girar de nuevo hacia él. ¿Era acaso eso real o algún otro tipo de alucinación? Quizás la Rose de su cabeza había cambiado de estrategia y ahora quería hablarle por teléfono. O, tal vez, era sólo una coincidencia.

Cuando dejó de sonar otra vez, se dispuso a seguir andando, pero volvió a tintinear por una tercera vez. Mabel resopló y se giró sobre sus pies para adentrarse en la cabina, empujada más por su curiosidad que por otra cosa; más valía que eso no fuera una maldita alucinación. Descolgó entonces el teléfono y lo acercó a su oído. No tenía pensado decir nada, sólo escuchar y luego colgar. La voz al otro lado de la línea no tardó mucho en pronunciar de inmediato:

—Esquina de Lincoln Blvd. y la Calle 83, en una hora. No llegues tarde.

—¿Qué? —murmuró Mabel despacio, desconcertada. La voz no sólo no dijo nada más, sino que colgó al segundo siguiente.

La Doncella apartó el auricular de su oído y lo miró aún en su mano con incertidumbre. Aquella no había sido la voz de Rose, aunque todo había sido tan rápido que no podría estar del todo segura. Pero lo fuera o no… ¿qué significaba aquello? ¿Quería que fuera a esa dirección? ¿Y quién lo quería exactamente?

Todo eso le olía a leguas a una trampa, aunque no estaba segura de quién. De la policía lo dudaba; si estuvieran en esos momentos observándola, en lugar de jugar con llamadas crípticas simplemente tenían que lanzársele encima en ese mismo momento. Pero si no se trataba de la policía… la otra alternativa era Thorn.

Recordaba que en el pasado se había comunicado con ellos por medios similares a ese para darles instrucciones cuando quería que se presentaran o hicieran algo por él. Cuando pidió que James lo viera en su departamento en Los Ángeles, había mandado a un repartidor de comida a entregar un pedido a su casa rodante que ellos por supuesto no habían ordenado, y que contenía en su interior la petición. A ese paleto sí que le gustaba la teatralidad.

Si en efecto se trataba de él, no sabía si acaso era más o menos preocupante. Ir a su llamado era de las cosas que menos le atraía en esos momentos, en especial si no confiaba que la estuviera llamando para ayudarla, y no para simplemente deshacerse de ella de una vez por todas.

«Pero me necesita» pensaba Mabel intentando convencerse a sí misma. «Soy la única que puede rastrear a las personas que busca. Incluso podría conseguirme un poco más de vapor para estar fuerte y poder servirle mejor…»

Aquel pensamiento la horrorizó al instante. ¿En serio pensaba ir con ese paleto a rogarle protección y unas cuantas migajas? La desesperación la estaba volviendo cada vez más patética, justo como la Rose de su cabeza le decía.

Colgó el teléfono con fuerza, casi rompiéndolo en el proceso, y salió presurosa de la cabina para seguir su marcha. Si aquello era obra de ese paleto, lo mejor que podía hacer era irse lo más lejos posible de ahí y de esa dirección. Aunque… no podía ignorar lo que aquella mujer, la tal Verónica, había mencionado en el hospital sobre que “él no se encuentra disponible en este momento para mandar a nadie a hacer nada.” Ignoraba qué significaba o si era cierto. ¿Habría salido herido de alguna forma? ¿Qué había pasado esa noche? El estar tan en blanco de la situación real ciertamente la tenía en desventaja. Siempre tenías que estar un paso delante de tus presas, saber qué harán y cuándo; era una de las primeras cosas que Rose, la verdadera, le habían enseñado. Y en esos momentos ciertamente no estaba enterada de casi nada.

Debía de alguna forma solucionarlo.

— — — —

Desobedeciendo su propio instinto, una hora más tarde se presentó justo en el sitio que aquella llamada le había indicado. Las avenidas mencionadas resultaron ser más concurridas de lo que Mabel hubiera querido, por las que varios automóviles pasaban y se detenían en los semáforos. El sol ya brillaba con fuerza sobre su cabeza, y estaba relativamente caluroso. En una esquina había una gasolinera, y en las otras un restaurante, una pequeña plaza, y un auto lavado. Ignoraba a cuál de los cuatro sitios debía de ir, así que se dirigió a la gasolinera, esperando que a ningún maldito coche patrulla se le ocurriera llenar el tanque justo en ese momento.

Para no llamar demasiado la atención, entró a la pequeña tienda, intentando pasar totalmente desapercibida, mezclándose con el resto de los clientes y sin mirar a ninguno a la cara, y no dejar que ninguno la viera a ella. Esto aplicaba también para las cámaras de seguridad. Todos esos eran trucos y habilidades que había aprendido con las muchas décadas en el Nudo Verdadero.

Aquella osada travesía era también con el fin de comprarse una gorra para cubrirse mejor el rostro, unos lentes oscuros, algunos panecillos dulces y una botella de agua para disimularlo un poco. Además de que le vendría bien comer algo. Los verdaderos con su nueva fisionomía no necesitaban comer para sobrevivir, salvo el vapor de los paletos, claro. Pero el no necesitar no implicaba que no podían hacerlo, y en especial disfrutar de los sabores y olores. Eran pequeños estímulos que ayudaban a mantenerlos despiertos, y ciertamente lo necesitaba en esos momentos.

El cajero le cobró sus cosas sin ponerle demasiada atención. Su apariencia desaliñada y olor a alcantarilla de seguro ayudaba bastante a ello. Para pagar, utilizó algo del dinero que les había arrebatado a Sadie y Lacey, antes de tirarlas en aquel basurero. De seguro para ese entonces ya debían de haberlas encontrado, así que no podía quedarse demasiado en un solo sitio. Esperaba que quien fuera que la hubiera citado se diera prisa.

Se colocó en un punto algo escondido a lado de la tienda, comiendo sus panecillos mientras veía a todos los autos que entraban y salían de la gasolinera, esperando quizás ver alguna de las camionetas negras del mocoso. Estaba además cerca de un viejo teléfono público colocado justo afuera de la tienda, esperando que quizás la misma persona intentara comunicarse por él.

No pensaba esperar demasiado; sólo el tiempo que tardara en acabarse sus bocadillos. Y en efecto, cuando dio el último bocado, aún nada pasaba; el teléfono no sonaba, y nadie conocido o sospechoso hizo acto de presencia.

Mejor así.

Se aproximó al bote de basura afuera de la tienda y tiró la envoltura de su pan. Se dirigió entonces hacia la calle, con la intención de cruzar al otro lado hacia el auto lavado, y alejarse de ahí. A medio camino, sin embargo, una persona en una bicicleta se dirigió directo hacia ella, casi arrollándola si no fuera porque logró frenar a último momento, casi derrapando.

—Oh, lo siento —se excusó el hombre en la bicicleta, de casco y chaleco verde, y una mochila marrón en la espalda—. ¿Estás bien?

—Sí, no te preocupes —le respondió Mabel escuetamente, reanudando al instante su marcha.

—Espera, por favor —pronunció el hombre de la bicicleta con ímpetu—. ¿Srta. Maiden? ¿Mabel Maiden?

Mabel se detuvo en seco al oír aquello. ¿Sabía su nombre? ¿Sabía su nombre de Verdadera…?

Todo su cuerpo se puso tenso. Su mirada se giró a su alrededor, intentando detectar coches de policía o uniformados aproximándose por alguna dirección. Las luces y los ruidos la marearon un poco, pero intentó pensar rápido. ¿Debía huir? ¿Debía matar a ese sujeto, fuera quien fuera? ¿Debía…?

—Tengo un paquete para ti —comentó de pronto el mismo chico de la bicicleta, tomándola por sorpresa—. Dijeron que lo esperaría justo aquí una chica con tu descripción. ¿Sí eres tú?

Mabel giró lentamente. El chico de la bicicleta se encontraba en esos momentos buscando algo en su mochila, que no tardó en encontrar y extendérselo: un paquete pequeño en una caja café, sin ninguna etiqueta.

¿Otra vez la táctica del repartidor? De nuevo todo apuntaba a ese mocoso paleto.

—S��, soy yo —respondió tras un rato con severidad, aproximándosele.

—Firma aquí, por favor —le pidió el chico, extendiendo su celular con una pantalla en blanco para que pusiera su firma con el dedo. Mabel dibujó cualquier cosa que pareciera remotamente una firma, y con eso bastó para que le entregaran el paquete—. Gracias, buena tarde.

Sin más, el chico se montó de nuevo en su bicicleta y se alejó en ella.

Mabel volvió a su pequeño escondite a un lado de la tienda, detrás del contenedor de basura, y abrió con rapidez el paquete. Dentro de la caja se encontró con un teléfono móvil, al parecer usado; un modelo de hace algunos años, y no muy llamativo.

Se encontraba pensando qué se suponía que debía hacer con él, cuando comenzó a sonar de pronto con una sonora canción en español. El nombre en la pantalla de quien llamaba aparecía simplemente como V. S.

Mabel dudó un poco, pero al final tomó el teléfono, atendió la llamada y lo aproximó a su oído. Similar a como había hecho en la cabina, no dijo nada y permitió que la otra persona empezara la conversación. Y ésta, de nuevo, no tardó mucho en hacerse escuchar.

—Mucho mejor —pronunció una voz risueña al otro lado de la línea—. Así podremos hablar con mayor libertad, ¿no te parece?

Mabel siguió en silencio. Aquella voz le resultaba conocida, pero no ubicaba claramente de momento a quién pertenecía. No era Thorn, eso lo tenía seguro; era en realidad la voz de una mujer.

Cuando al parecer fue evidente que Mabel no diría nada, la persona al otro lado optó por seguir hablando por su cuenta.

—¿Te cuento una cosa? Cuando la Sombra seguía a Samara y las otras por orden de Damien, les entregó el teléfono de su última víctima, para que así Damien pudiera comunicarse con ellas. Creí que quizás encontrarías divertido que hiciera lo mismo contigo, ya que el teléfono que tienes en la mano en estos momentos perteneció al pobre y joven paramédico al que le rebanaste la garganta en cuanto despertaste. Y ahora, encima de eso, le robaste. Un nuevo crimen a tu expediente, Doncella.

Toda aquella palabrería fue más que suficiente para ubicar al fin a esa persona.

—Eres esa paleta del hospital —soltó con desdén.

La voz al otro lado rio divertida.

—Si vamos a tener una relación de trabajo fructífera, tendrás que empezar a llamarme Verónica, ¿de acuerdo?

—Tú fuiste la que mató a ese sujeto, no yo —exclamó Mabel, defensiva.

—¿En serio importa? ¿Qué es uno más entre los miles que ya cargas contigo? Por cierto, si fuera tú no me quedaría quieta en ese sitio por mucho tiempo, que esa gorra y esas gafas no te ocultarán tanto como crees.

Mabel se sobresaltó, girándose a mirar rápidamente a su alrededor. ¿La estaba viendo? ¿Desde dónde? ¿Un automóvil? ¿Alguna cámara de seguridad? ¿O la estaría viendo a la distancia? ¿Era acaso capaz de hacer algo como eso sin ser una vaporera?

No tuvo mucho tiempo para meditar al respecto, pues los distintivos colores y forma de una patrulla de policía se hicieron presente en la calle a un lado de la gasolinera, haciendo alto en el semáforo. Eso la empujó a reaccionar, salir de inmediato de su escondite y dirigirse a la dirección totalmente contraria, intentando disimular su paso.

—Eso es —exclamó con júbilo la voz de Verónica en el teléfono—. Mantente en movimiento y no llames la atención. Sé que eso en teoría lo sabes hacer bien, pero tu situación actual no es nada fácil.

—¿Qué es lo que quieres? —exclamó Mabel ofuscada.

—Te lo dije, ¿recuerdas? Necesito que hagas un par de cosas por mí.

—¿Qué cosas?

—De entrada, necesito que te vayas encaminando hacia Maine.

—¿Maine? —murmuró la Doncella, confundida—. ¿Qué hay en Maine?

—Muchas cosas —ironizó Verónica—. La ubicación exacta te la mandaré cuando ya estés cerca, pero primero tienes que salir de la ciudad. Espero ya hayas pensado en algún modo, si no…

—No voy a hacer nada de lo que tú me digas —le cortó la verdadera de forma tajante—. No sé si estás haciendo esto por algún estúpido juego de Thorn o por tu cuenta, pero lo que sea me da igual. Yo ya no recibo órdenes de paletos.

—Qué carácter. ¿Segura que estás en posición de ponerte tan pedante? Todo el mundo necesita de una amiga en momentos de crisis.

—Yo no necesito nada de ti ni de Thorn —sentenció Mabel con firmeza—. Gracias por el teléfono nuevo. Le quitaré la memoria en este momento y adquiriré una nueva en cuanto pueda. No vuelvas a buscarme, y eso va también para tu amo.

—Te arrepentirás… —canturreó Verónica como una risueña amenaza, un instante antes de que Mabel le colgara abruptamente.

Cumpliendo con lo que había dicho, rápidamente abrió la tapa posterior del teléfono y le retiró la batería y el chip. Se aproximó a un bote de basura con la clara intención de tirar ambos en él, pero se detuvo a último momento. Ciertamente no sabía cuándo estaría en posición de adquirir otra tarjeta exactamente, así que lo más sensato sería conservarlos de momento; sólo por si acaso.

Guardó el teléfono en un bolsillo de su chaqueta, la batería y el chip en otro, y siguió avanzando por la banqueta.

— — — —

La entrevista de Samara terminó saliendo bien; mejor de lo que Matilda esperaba. Al inicio le habían pedido que se retirara de la sala para poder hablar a solas con la niña, pero la negativa de Samara para hablar si Matilda no estaba presente resultó lo bastante convincente. Después de todo, ¿cómo negarle a una niña que había pasado por tan traumática experiencia el contar con el apoyo de su psiquiatra? De todas formas la trabajadora social y la detective le exigieron no intervenir y limitarse a sólo observar, y así lo hizo. No era que hubiera tenido que hacerlo, pues Samara lo hizo muy bien, diciendo justo lo que le habían indicado que dijera; no más, no menos.

Matilda pensó por un momento que la presión terminaría siendo demasiada para Samara, en especial tras la negativa que había expresado más temprano durante el desayuno. Pero se mantuvo firme hasta el final, aunque no lo suficiente como para que se notara que lo estaba inventando. Como decían algunos, la mejor forma de decir una mentira era apegarse lo más posible a la verdad, y en parte eso fue justo lo que Samara hizo. Explicó lo ocurrido, pero torciendo sólo un poco los detalles. El más significativo, que en efecto la tuvieron encerrada gran parte de esos días como informó Cole a la prensa, aunque no en un lujoso pent-house de Beverly Hills sino en un departamento de un edificio abandonado.

El punto más delicado, y en donde Matilda percibió mayor vacilación, fue al momento de tocar el tema de su madre. Samara agachó la cabeza ante ese cuestionamiento, ocultándose detrás de sus largos cabellos negros. La psiquiatra se sintió tentada a en efecto intervenir en esa parte, instando a que no la presionaran con ese tema tan sensible. Pero antes de hacerlo, Samara murmuró escuetamente:

—Esa mujer la mató… La apuñaló en el cuello con el bisturí… y luego…

No fue capaz de decir más. Matilda la rodeó cariñosamente con un brazo, intentando reconfortarla. La trabajadora social pareció comprender la situación y no insistió más.

Ante los cuestionamientos de si había escuchado cualquier cosa del motivo de su secuestro o qué planes tenían Klammer y sus cómplices con ella, o si tenía idea de a dónde podrían haberse dirigido, Samara respondió con negativas, justo como le habían indicado que hiciera. Sin embargo, Matilda percibió una apenas apreciable vacilación en esa última pregunta, como si un instante antes de responder hubiera recordado algo que podría habérsele pasado por alto.

¿Podría ser que sí supiera a dónde había ido Leena Klammer? ¿O al menos tuviera una idea? Sería algo que tendría que preguntarle directamente cuando estuvieran a solas.

Si acaso hubo alguna duda en los interrogadores con respecto a la declaración de Samara, ninguno la expresó directamente. Solamente luego de terminar, la mujer detective que había estado observando todo pidió hablar unos minutos a solas con Matilda.

—Gracias por su colaboración, Dra. Honey —le expresó la oficial, con la mayor cortesía fingida que su entrenamiento le permitía—. Parece que pese a todo, la niña está bien, y eso es lo importante. Pero hay algo que aún no me queda del todo claro. Según los reportes, usted estaba en Oregón con la niña cuando fue el secuestro, y fue herida en su…

—En mi hombro, sí —indicó Matilda, tocándose el hombro herido—. Ya está mucho mejor.

—Me alegra escuchar eso. Sin embargo, a lo que iba es que luego de ser herida, vino curiosamente acá, hacia el mismo sitio que Klammer venía con la niña. Y estaba justo aquí cuando apareció, lista para presentarse y ayudarla. Muy conveniente, ¿no le parece?

—No creo que haya algo en todo esto que podamos llamar “conveniente”, detective —declaró Matilda sin vacilación—. Yo crecí aquí, en Arcadia. Mi madre todavía vive ahí, así que lo mejor para mí fue ir con ella para poder reposar mi herida. No tenía idea de que Klammer venía para acá. De haberlo hecho, lo habría informado a las autoridades inmediatamente.

Y aquello no era en realidad una mentira. Se había enterado de que esa mujer y Samara estaban tan cerca sólo hasta que Cole le informó. Lo cierto era que, por más raro que pareciera, aquello sí había sido una simple coincidencia… o, quizás no. Ya en esos momentos se cuestionaba qué tanta influencia el resplandor, los fantasmas, o las fuerzas místicas del universo podrían estar jugando con ellos para que las cosas ocurrieran de cierta forma.

—Por supuesto —asintió la detective, aparentemente no muy convencida—. Escuché que está solicitando que la niña sea puesta temporalmente bajo su custodia, y que el Jefe Thomson está alegando a su favor para que eso ocurra.

—Consideramos que es lo mejor para Samara, sólo hasta que podamos reunirla de nuevo… con su padre.

—Parece muy apegada a usted. Y usted a ella, si me permite decirlo.

Matilda la observó con inmutable y calmado silencio.

—Es una niña muy especial, y ha pasado por mucho. Sólo quiero ayudarla en todo lo que pueda.

Aquel pequeño interrogatorio no pasó a mayores. No creía que aquella detective sospechara que pudiera haber estado de alguna forma involucrada en el secuestro de Samara, pero sí que había un poco más en esa historia de lo que le contaban. Al parecer tenía buenos instintos.

Tras unas horas, y ya que tuvieron toda la información pertinente, las dejaron ir. Aún no era claro si le permitirían que Samara se quedara con ella y que la acompañara de regreso a Washigton, pero al menos por esa noche la dejaron ir con ella. Matilda estaba segura que aquello era gracias a la influencia del Jefe Thomson, o quizás del mismísimo DIC, y no estaba segura de cuál de las dos le parecía más preocupante.

—Lo hiciste muy bien —le susurró Matilda en voz baja a Samara, mientras ambas caminaban hacia la salida principal del edificio. Matilda la tomaba de la mano, y los dedos de Samara se rodeaban firmes contra ella.

—Gracias —susurró la niña despacio, mirando al frente—. ¿Qué pasará ahora?

—Por hoy sólo nos toca descansar, comer algo, y conseguirte ropa nueva como habíamos acordado. Mañana, ya veremos.

Samara asintió.

Al salir por las puertas de cristal, se encontraron casi de frente con Eleven, Sarah y Cole, que claramente las esperaban.

—Hey, ¿cómo les fue? —preguntó Cole, esbozando una amplia sonrisa al verlas.

—Creo que bien —suspiró Matilda—. ¿Y a ustedes?

—Cole se lució —respondió Eleven—. Quizás incluso le den una medalla.

—No, claro que no —se apresuró Cole a decir, riendo un poco—. Digamos que fui lo suficientemente convincente, al menos de momento.

—Samara también —señaló Matilda, rodeando los hombros de la pequeña con un brazo—. Lo hizo magnifico.

—Genial —escucharon como Sarah exclamaba de pronto, con una cargada ironía en su voz—. Felicidades, todos somos unos grandiosos mentirosos.

Aquellas palabras pusieron nerviosos a todos, en especial porque había aún bastantes policías rondando cerca de ellos. Por suerte, ninguno pareció escucharla.

—Sarah, por favor contrólate —le regañó Eleven, jalándola un poco para que comenzaran a avanzar juntas hacia las escaleras—. A ninguno le enorgullece haber tenido que hacer esto, entiéndelo. Pero era necesario para protegernos a nosotros, y a nuestra familia.

—No tienes que convencerme a mí de eso —respondió Sarah con amargura—. Lo único que diré es que mientras más mentiras dices, tarde o temprano una terminará regresando a golpearte en la cara. Y en verdad espero que cuando ese momento llegue, podamos seguir manteniéndonos en pie.

Eleven suspiró, claramente exasperada. Cole, Matilda y Samara guardaron silencio; la tensión latente entre madre e hija resultaba un tanto incómoda, por decirlo menos. Pero no parecía ser un tema en el que pudieran involucrarse.

—Bueno, ¿qué les parece si vamos a almorzar algo? —propuso Cole una vez que todos estuvieron de pie en la acera.

—No sé si sea conveniente estar en la calle en estos momentos —indicó Matilda. Aún tenía su brazo alrededor de Samara de forma protectora—. El rostro de Samara, y también el tuyo Cole, de seguro ya están rondando por todos los canales y sitios de noticias. No quisiera que ninguno se expusiera demasiado.

—Supongo que tienes razón —murmulló Cole, colocando una mano detrás de su cabeza.

—Mejor vayamos a casa de mi madre —planteó Matilda con mayor optimismo—. De seguro ella estará feliz de darnos cobijo por unas horas. Así también Samara podrá descansar un poco.

—No estoy cansada —murmuró la pequeña de inmediato, aunque igual tenía su rostro apoyado contra el costado de Matilda, y sus ojos mostraban algo de aletargamiento.

—Igual será lo mejor —repuso Matilda—. Pidamos un taxi.

Se aproximaron más hacia la calle para poder pedir su transporte. Su intento, sin embargo, quedó frustrado cuando dos personas se les aproximaron por un costado y llamaron su atención.

—¿Det. Sear? ¿Cole Sear? —escucharon que preguntaba uno de ellos, jalando al instante la atención de los cinco.

De pie en la acera a un metro de ellos se encontraban dos hombres, uno alto de cabello y bigote rojizo, de apariencia mayor y solemne, hombros anchos y piernas largas. El otro era un poco más bajo, de complexión robusta, con escaso cabello oscuro y mirada férrea. Ambos usaban camisa, corbata, pantalón de vestir y abrigos largos café y negro, respectivamente. Cole reconoció al instante sus maneras de pararse, vestir, y como los observaban. Sin lugar a duda eran detectives de policía.

—Soy yo —respondió Cole con seriedad.

—Detectives Bahlk y Rossi —indicó el hombre alto de cabello rojizo, al tiempo que ambos hombres sacaban y enseñaban sus respectivas placas—. Quisiéramos hablar con usted unos momentos.

Aquello ciertamente desconcertó un poco a las acompañantes del detective de Filadelfia.

—¿Pasa algo? —cuestionó Matilda con aprensión—. Creíamos que ya habíamos terminado con todo este asunto de la conferencia.

—No es sobre la conferencia, señorita —aclaró rápidamente el otro hombre de complexión robusta—. O no directamente, al menos. —Se giró en ese momento de nuevo a mirar a Cole—. Es con respecto a uno de los sospechosos que señaló como cómplice de Leena Klammer en su declaración por televisión. La mujer del retrato hablado que mostró durante la conferencia, ¿la recuerda?

—Por supuesto —contestó Cole sin titubeo—. ¿Qué ocurre con ella?

El detective pelirrojo sacó en ese momento su teléfono y se aproximó hacia él. Desbloqueó el dispositivo, buscó rápidamente algo en él, y entonces se lo extendió a Cole para que pudiera ver la pantalla.

—¿Es ésta la misma mujer?

El entrecejo de Cole se arrugó, intrigado. Tomó el teléfono con una mano y lo observó. En la pantalla se mostraba la fotografía de una mujer recostada con los ojos cerrados, y un tubo de oxígeno en su nariz. Se veía desaliñada y golpeada… pero aun así, Cole la reconoció al instante.

Era la mujer que estaba en el pent-house de Thorn, la que acompañaba al otro hombre alto y fuerte con el que se había enfrentado en el psiquiátrico de Eola, y que les había disparado y casi asesinado en aquella bodega. Pero la recordaba más vívidamente del momento posterior a cuando Thorn le había disparado en el pent-house, y se encontraba prácticamente desangrándose en su alfombra. Ella se le había acercado cuando estaba herido y lo había tomado con fuerza de su herida provocándole un gran dolor, y al parecer disfrutado de ello.

El ver esa foto llevó a Cole casi al instante a aquel momento, y sintió que su cuerpo entero temblaba, y las heridas de su mano y su pierna parecieron cosquillear, como si amenazaran con volver a abrirse. Aun así, intentó mantener la calma, respiró lentamente, y asintió.

—Sí, es ella —respondió devolviéndole el teléfono al detective—. ¿La encontraron?

—Fue hallada inconsciente hace tres noches a lado de un río, al parecer arrastrada por la corriente. Estuvo internada sin reaccionar en un hospital en Santa Mónica desde entonces, pero anoche desapareció.

—¿Desapareció? —exclamó Matilda alarmada.

Los detectives asintieron.

—No sólo eso. Durante su escape, asesinó a una compañera detective, y al menos a dos trabajadores del hospital. Y creemos que también a dos jóvenes cuyos cuerpos fueron encontrados esta mañana en un basurero a unos kilómetros de la escena del crimen.

—Santo Dios —exclamó Sarah con horror, cubriendo su boca con una mano. Su sentimiento era compartido también por Matilda, Eleven y Cole.

—Su compañero resultó también herido, pero ya está fuera de peligro —indicó el otro detective con severidad—. Y señaló a esta mujer como la culpable del hecho. La hemos estado rastreando desde anoche, pero aún no hemos podido dar con ella.

—¿Quiere decir que esa mujer… sigue aquí en la ciudad? —preguntó Matilda. La preocupación desbordaba de cada una de sus palabras.

—Es lo que esperamos —sentenció el detective pelirrojo—. Tenemos oficiales en centrales de autobuses, trenes, aeropuertos y carreteras. Nos encargaremos de que no pueda dejar la ciudad por ningún medio. Pero dado su comportamiento hasta ahora, tememos que podría lastimar a más personas conforme se sienta acorralada. Es por eso que es apremiante atraparla lo antes posible. Y cualquier información que pueda darnos de ella que haya resultado de su investigación, no será de utilidad, Det. Sear.

—Sí, claro… —asintió Cole. Se giró entonces hacia sus acompañantes—. Ustedes adelántense. Yo las alcanzaré en cuanto termine de hablar con estos detectives.

—No te preocupes —declaró Eleven con firmeza—. Haz lo que tengas que hacer.

Cole asintió.

—Tengan cuidado, ¿de acuerdo?

Se giró entonces de regreso a los dos detectives.

—Los sigo.

Los tres comenzaron a caminar al interior del cuartel, esperando encontrar un sitio en donde pudieran hablar con más calma.

En cuánto se fueron, Eleven permitió dejar salir un poco la impresión que todo aquello le había provocado. Tanto así que su rostro incluso palideció un poco.

—Esa mujer… —masculló Sarah, inquieta.

—Es la asesina de Kali —indicó Eleven con dureza—. Así que sí sigue con vida.

—Con un demonio —soltó la hija mayor de los Wheeler—. Quizás exponerse de esa forma en televisión no fue lo más inteligente después de todo, ¿no?

Matilda se sobresaltó al escucharla decir aquello.

—¿Creen que intente venir por Samara de nuevo?

—No lo sé —negó Eleven—. Pero será mejor que nos movamos de una vez.

—Matilda… —pronunció Samara de pronto, jalando un poco de la blusa de la psiquiatra para llamar su atención—. Damien dijo que esa mujer puede sentir a los que son como nosotros. Que puede encontrar a las personas aunque estén lejos. La había llamado para que buscara a Abra, sin saber que ella ya estaba aquí.

—Una rastreadora —susurró Matilda despacio—. Así debió de habernos encontrado en la bodega. Si eso es cierto, podría encontrarnos sin importar en dónde nos escondamos.

La tensión se volvió pesada y palpable sobre todas. Y la poca tranquilidad que el buen resultado de la conferencia les había proporcionado, se extinguió al instante.

FIN DEL CAPÍTULO 133

#doctor sleep #the shining #stephen king #matilda wormwood #matilda honey #matilda #samara morgan #the ring #cole sear #sixth sense #jane hopper #jane ives #eleve #stranger things #resplandor entre tinieblas #fanfic #wingzemonx

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drarreckyninja · 1 year

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drarreckyninja’s top 50 ships of Dec 2022: #50. Danole

#top 50 ships #my ships #countdown #dec 2022 #calendar #the shining #the sixth sense #danny torrance #cole sear #danny x cole #danole

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healed1337 · 2 years

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Bruce Willis month 2 - The Sixth Sense

Bruce Willis month 2 – The Sixth Sense

This blog post is a day later than usual, because I had both a funeral and a multi-birthday celebration over the weekend. Also, I spent over an hour looking for clips for this blog post that didn’t contain spoilers, but almost every clip I found can’t be shared outside of YouTube. Anyway, let’s get to it. The Sixth Sense was a breakout film for several people involved. Although Bruce Willis had…

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#bruce willis #cole sear #disney #dr. malcolm crowe #drama #haley joel osment #lynn sear #m. night shyamalan #movie review #movies #mtv movie awards #psychological thriller #saturn awards #spyglass entertainment #thriller movie

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louisbxne · 22 days

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THE SIXTH SENSE (1999)

#the sixth sense #cole sear #vincent grey #haley joel osment #donnie wahlberg #m night shyamalan #filmedit #filmgifs #moviegifs #dailyflicks #90s movies #90s #1999 #paranormal

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klinejack · 2 years

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🍂31 Days of Halloween🎃 Day 2 ✣ The Sixth Sense (1999)

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its-pit-not-icarus · 11 months

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Would you like to enter Prime Empire?

I made these sprites in the style of the Prime Empire portraits that show up momentarily in S12 E12, but only Jay, Nya and Lloyd are shown in this style in the show. I absolutely loved this pixel style, and thought all the ninja deserved to be in this style, plus Kai and Jay’s custom avatars! Had a lot of fun with these <3 (click/tap for higher quality + it’s transparent!)

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clearvoir · 2 years

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abra’s main aesthetic being alice in wonderland, a series of unfortunate events, haunting of hill house, poltergeist, hereditary, twilight zone.

#main characters i take from like cole sear / kat harvey / wednesday addams / lydia deetz etc do U SEE WHERE IM GOIN W THIS

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arminsumi · 8 months

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can i get an eager, inexperienced gojo? he is probably so silly and loving during sexy time but he still acts like a horndog, not sure where to touch, kinda nerv but tryna cover it up bc he’s the strongest sorcerer, ofc he’s been with so many ladies before!!!! (he hasn’t but he doesn’t want YOU to know that)

love your works as always stay safe💗💗💗

AIN'T NEVER DID THIS BEFORE, NO.

𝐆. 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 — 五条悟

NOTE: this made me think of that j. cole song so i looped it while writing all 2.3k of this fic 🥴 i hope u like what i did!! mwaaa smooches!! hope ur well <3

🔞 mdni / 18+ content

SUMMARY — Gojo's saved up his virginity ever since he met you, savoring every wet dream through the years until he finally got the real thing in a hotel room in Okinawa.

WARNINGS — fem reader, n.sfw content, profanity, pre-established relationship

SMUT WARNINGS — virginity loss, light dirty talk, nicknames (good girl, sweet girl, daddy), Gojo's so nervous and inexperienced wheee😩💗, protected sex/condoms used, multiple rounds (2), kitty eating, giving him head, fluffy ending scene, lmk if i have missed smth and pls overlook errors i'm slepy asf it's 2am

Wordcount ≈ 2.3k

Playme ♪ wet dreamz

🍒 𝐉𝐚𝐲 — サクランボ ⋅ 𝐑𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬/𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐭 !

You can’t miss the way his Addam’s apple shifts up and down when he swallows, or the way he gawks when you wiggle out of your clothes and toss them off the side of the hotel bed.

Where are my hands supposed to go?

He’s thinking that while haphazardly squeezing a large handful of your hips and hotly kissing your neck.

This has been his long-anticipated dream come true… see, Gojo Satoru met you in high school. And the first thing he thought to himself was I want her to take my virginity. So, he had promised himself that one day, when he was older, he was gonna give it to you.

All his cheeky flirting and dirty jokes got him here, in this room of some dreadfully expensive hotel in Okinawa. Yes, he’s cheesy, as cheesy as he was when he used to lean over his desk during high school to whisper dumb pickup lines into your ear; he requested rose petals and wine. He had the lights dimmed. He laid you down with kisses right on top of those strewn petals.

Crazed, feverish, eager, overwhelmed; he was bursting with a bunch of feelings – predominantly horniness. He’s always had that horny twang about him, he was unashamed about it around you – it’s what got you hot for him in the first place, the fact that he was so bold with his dirty jokes and naughty hints.

But now he’s struggling to find his words. Now that smart mouth is sparsely throwing out witty remarks. Now he was heavily relying on comedy to ease his nervousness and mask his inexperienced movements.

He let you roll on top and savored each kiss that you pressed down his chest – heaving, he was heaving and hot already and all the two of you had done so far was romantic French kissing and tentative touches across each other’s bare skin.

The heat of your flushed cheeks seared his lower abdomen.

How low is she gonna go – oh my god what do I do – play it cool – oh my god is she actually – wow this is really happening.

Such a mess of goofy thoughts passed through his mind when you pressed a testing kiss to his glistening cockhead. Giving the slit a lick made his shoulders scrunch up, and his voice shook a bit, “Shit, baby, you don’t have to do that if you don’t w – want to… oh fuck…”

“But I’ve wanted to suck it so bad, I’ve thought about it so much.” You batted your eyes at him.

His stomach flipped.

“O-okay… ” he breathed. In the back of his mind, he was self-conscious about sounding like a virgin… because he totally was. And he wasn’t masking it very well when you started kissing and licking on his cock.

Feling your tongue swirl circles around his bulbous head, then swiping the underside, nearly made him bust right there. It took every bit of this strong boy’s strength to hold it in. And there was a lot to hold in.

“Oh that’s so fucking good.” He moaned.

You lowered your lips down his slickened cock, the warmth and texture of it delighting your tongue. Taking in his scent, his taste, his sounds – when you hollowed out your cheeks and suctioned your lips around him, he let out an uneasy moan. He was really gonna bust right there in your mouth if he didn’t tell you to ease up.

“B-baby, you’re so good at that – but – but fuckkk – slow down f’me…” he pleaded, big hand coming to the back of your head as you slid off his cock – that also almost made him bust. Oh god, you unknowingly edged him. Maybe you knew that, because you giggled at the way his cock jumped and visibly twitched after popping your lips off of it.

“Sorry, you good?” you asked him sweetly. He looked at you through lust-glazed eyes, his lower lip glistening with a bit of drool.

“ ‘m okay – fuck come here and get on your back. ‘Wanna do that to you too.” He commanded you, eagerly shuffling positions.

He lowered his face between your legs, marvelling at the shiny wet sheen smeared across your inner thigh. A thin web of juice connected from your hole.

“Sorry, I know it’s rude to stare.” He chuckled, joking to lighten his nerves. But earning a laugh from you made his heart flutter before he dove right into it – now here’s where you realized something.

He was inexperienced. Totally. Sweetly so. His tongue flicked and darted around, swiping along your slit, gathering your juices like he was thirsty. The way he licked you up felt like he was some college boy giving his crush head in a lucid dream.

But if there’s one thing you know about Gojo Satoru, it’s that he can do anything he tries. You started out giggling and squirming on his face, and ended up squealing his name and arching your back. Switching between suckling at your clit and lapping at your folds and slipping his buttery tongue into your hole – he was having fun figuring it out.

And my god, he had the biggest, smuggest, most smackable grin on his face when he made you cum.

“W-wipe that grin off your face.” You panted, half-dazed from your orgasm.

His grin only grew wider. Now he was feeling a bit cocky, a little high on a sugar rush of confidence because he just made the girl of his dreams cum from a little amateur tongue-fucking.

“You musta really wanted it bad, huh?” he teased, crawling up to meet your face and pressing a few wet, sloppy kisses to your awaiting lips. You could taste yourself, and he was conscious of that – and it made him almost bust on your tummy. You felt his cock jumping and twitching and throbbing against your skin.

“Don’t get all smug now…” you muttered.

His plumped, flushed lips hovered over your face. “Thanks for the meal.” He whispered jokingly, wiping your juice off his cheek with his thumb and suckling it off.

“Hahaha what!” you broke out laughing. “You’re ridiculous!”

He ran his tongue over his lips to tease you, “Tasted better than in my dreams.”

Now that made you flush hotter underneath him. Because for some reason, it hadn’t occurred to you that he had wet dreams of you. But he did. And he was too embarrassed to admit the number – it was big. He dreamed of you a lot. Especially taking you from the back… so naturally

“Turn around f’me, please?” he asked, “I wanna see you from the back.”

Your lack of hesitation to switch positions for him made his heart thump.

“Good girl…” he muttered under his breath, unsure of how you’d take the nickname. But hearing your giggly hum and seeing your hips wiggle up to his pelvis reassured him that you liked it.

So he engulfed you from behind, “You like that?” he whispered into your ear, big hand smoothing over the curves of your body to get a good feel of it. “Want me to call you a good girl?”

You nodded into the plush pillow, “Yes please. I like it.” You mumbled into the fabric.

“Can’t hear you, speak up.” He smiled against the shell of your ear teasingly. “Daddy’s hard of hearing.” He joked.

You rolled your eyes at his dumb goofiness. For some reason you thought it would switch off in the bedroom, but no – he was just as much as a dumb good in and out of bed.

“ ‘call me your good girl, please. I like it.”

His cock twitched. He’d started rubbing and pressing his cock into you from the back. The way your thighs and plush little pussy hugged him was better than any dream – lucid or not. And he’s had a lot of lucid wet dreams of you. Of this, specifically; taking you from behind. In his dreams, he’s pounding into you so good that you cream and cream and cream all over him. He just hopes he can actually achieve that in reality.

When he lowers his hands and fists his cock a bit before running the head between your folds, a pang of nervousness strikes his chest. That feeling came over him – that realization that oh, I’m gonna have my first time.

“So pretty…” he compliments, one hand soothingly caressing around your pussy.

To you, it almost feels like he might have done this before – you’re not sure – with the way he lightly smacks his cock on your hole, and the way he tests your smallness by slipping his tip in and out, you think he’s probably got at least a bit of experience under his belt.

But no. No, not at all. Not even a little bit. In fact, before you, he only kissed two people – and the first didn’t count to him because he hated it, and the second also didn’t count apparently because he was just practicing with Suguru in anticipation of kissing you one day.

“Fuck me…” he hissed through his gritted teeth when he finally sunk more than his tip through your hole.

“Fucking didn’t expect it to feel this good…” he thought out loud. “Might bust right here… fuck.” He blurted, then proceeded to boyishly blush.

Little hole squeezing on his virgin cock, hips wiggling back to meet his pelvis and take him deeper, you pawed behind you to feel him. “Baby, I-I gotta tell you something.” He begins embarrassedly, the nervous twang in his voice is so unfamiliar that you look back at him. “I’ve never done this before…” after he said that he sucked in a breath through his teeth at the feeling of your hole tightening and untightening.

You blink at him, and he’s worried for a split second before you smile sheepishly and tell him that he’s your first, too. Well, that little fun fact is what made him snap his hips against your ass and start fucking into you like he was some sort of crazed animal. He felt dizzied with the rush of pleasure, so stirred by the feeling of your pussy sucking his cock – there was no comparable thing in the world to him right then. He was definitely gonna become a sex-crazed fiend after this night, he thought. Absolutely. How could he not?

“S’toruuu – right there right there!” you cried out his name with such a pretty, strained voice that it made him want to tell you he loves you.

“Here? You like it here?” he hit that spot harder and harder, the squelching sound so dirty that you almost felt ashamed for a second. “My good girl gonna cum like this? Yeah? F-fuck t-t-tell me when you’re close ‘cause I’m close – really fucking close – fuck fuck fuck ahhh ‘gonna cum!”

He’s driving into that sweet spot while he cums, spilling a warm creamy mess into the condom – completely falling to pieces. Gojo’s always been inclined to obsessing over things, and he knows right then – when he cums with your quivering pussy sucking him in – that he’s gonna be obsessing over sex with you after this.

“Keep goinggg ‘m gonna cum too, please!” you whimpered from underneath him. He heard you, he was attentive even though he was panting and dazed. His thrusts got sloppy and he weighted on your body more heavily, you could feel his heartbeat.

“Good girl – g-good girl, rub your pretty clit. Want me to do it for you? M’kay sweet thing, lemme get you there – ah yeah? That feel good? You like daddy’s fingers toying with this pretty pussy? Oh fuck you’re gonna cum aren’t you?” he breathed all that into your ear and it absolutely destroyed you, especially with how those intense blue eyes piercingly stared down at you from behind.

“Get that relief, pretty girl – cum all over me. Fuck, there we go – oh wow…” he hit another sweet spot, feeling you gush and writhe under his imposing frame got him close again. “Fuck, baby – just a second, j-just a second ‘m gonna get ‘nother condom, n-need to fucking cum in that pussy again.” He pulled out quick, fingers struggling to free his cock of his already filled lil’ rubber. Squeezing into another one was one of the fastest yet most frustrating things he’s done in a while – oh, you just know that he’s gonna ditch the condoms as soon as you give him the green light to do so. Patience, he thought. He’s gonna need patience and a lot of rubbers.

“Ah fuck me! Satoru!” you arched your back when he re-entered.

“ ‘m gonna cum again, baby – fuck – s-sorry is it too much?” he breathed into your neck. Sweat beaded down his torso, down his thighs – both your bodies pricked with just enough sweat to make it erotically uncomfortable.

You barely managed to tell him that it wasn’t too much because of the way he was sloppily hitting his cockhead into your pussy. Feverish, dazed, pussy-drunk and love-drunk, you felt his hot lips nibbling at your shoulder, then he unexpectedly sank his teeth into your skin. It wasn’t sore, but those canines were a bit sharp.

Muffled moans on your skin sent a shiver down your back, one that travelled to your ass and thighs.

Rolling off to the side, panting and laying exhausted and unmoving.

“Fuck.” He muttered as if to say that was mind-blowing.

“Fuck.” You agreed.

“And ya didn’t even tell me you were a virgin!”

“You didn’t tell me, either!” you giggled, rolling into his embrace.

“But it’s hot if the girl is a virgin!”

You laughed with him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked.

He stayed silent for a little while, pulling you closer and caressing your shoulder. The two of you stared up at the ceiling.

“It’s embarrassing.” He admitted. “There was a time I wanted to lose my virginity just so that when I finally got to you, I’d be able to please you better. But I’m glad I waited…”

“Mmm really?” you hummed, he felt your smile print on his chest.

“…yeah.” You could hear his little smile in his voice. “I’m glad I gave it to you.”

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