Archive of Our Own ^beta

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Eric couldn’t breathe. Another clap of thunder echoed, causing him to curl up tightly on himself. The rain was hitting the nearest window violently, almost giving the impression that it was pouring into his home. It was too much noise, too loud, as if at any moment the glass would shatter.

If that happened, Eric wouldn’t be able to handle it. Imagining the rain on his skin tightened his throat and chest further, the trembling in his limbs and his breath growing more erratic as he pictured being outside with cars sliding through puddles and the downpour. He needed them to come back; he couldn’t endure this alone. The sound of thunder echoed with a bright flash, and the blond could feel the whimper escape his lips. He was so scared.

He couldn’t calm down, even though he knew he had to. He knew it was just rain, just a small storm, over a year after the accident. Another clap of thunder, another flash, and panic surged up his throat. They had to arrive soon, and while it wouldn’t take everything away, Eric would feel a little better with them there, instead of being alone with his thoughts and memories of the accident.

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Erin and Mark had tied him up. Charlie was panicking and struggling to breathe. It was completely ridiculous not to trust him. Why would he lie? Why would he help a killer who had almost burned him alive in an oven right in front of his team? It made no sense.

But Erin was convinced she had heard him talking to Du’Met, and Mark hadn’t questioned her for a second. Years of working together, only for Charlie to be thrown on the pyre as a traitor and murderer at the slightest doubt.

Charlie closed his eyes, feeling tears pooling against his cheeks and glasses as he listened for the familiar sound of footsteps. Even though he hoped it was Jamie or even Kate, he knew perfectly well it wasn’t any of his employees. Or former employees. His team had abandoned him.

The man trembled as Du’Met appeared, his cold gaze falling on his next victim, bound and offered up like a sacrifice.

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It was good to be home. Charlie knew his apartment was far from pleasant, but it was much better than the hotel of horrors or the hospital. Anything was better than those places. Even though the journey back had completely exhausted him, Charlie just wanted to collapse into his bed and never get up again. At least, not for several days.

Nothing good awaited him when he woke up. The resignation of his entire team, the end of his show, his injuries, his empty bank account. He would find a solution, Charlie always did. He could do podcasts—no need for a team or visuals. He had four resignations and the end of another one of his projects, but he wasn’t on bad terms with the other survivors. At least, Charlie didn’t think so.

Everything was depressing, but not as terrible as it could have been. That didn’t make things pleasant, but at least Charlie wanted to wake up, which was already better than after his last failure. At least, he preferred to lie to himself and say everything was fine, that he had avoided the worst.

He couldn’t pretend that everything was fine and that it didn’t matter when faced with the extent of the damage. Charlie didn’t want to see that. You couldn’t be optimistic when you saw all the permanent scars that would remain on your skin. If it didn’t hurt, Charlie would have ignored it all just to go rest.

It was a chore to drag himself to the bathroom, even more so to take off his shirt and lay out the various products on the small sink. He badly needed a cigarette.

He really didn’t like what his reflection was showing him. Charlie had several burns, especially on his arms and back, which would make it hard to apply treatments, along with scratches all over his body and several cuts. He had to be optimistic. He had almost lost his hand, almost died as well.

He tried not to cry over seeing another one of his projects fail, knowing that his whole team had resigned and left him alone, that there was no trace of Du'Met’s body no matter the search efforts. It was fine; he was alive and looking at his reflection in the mirror.

The bandages on his chest were falling off, revealing what he didn’t want to see. He could be optimistic and say everything was fine, but each scar told him otherwise. Someone had tried to burn him alive and kill him. He had to hide from Du'Met while the killer breathed down his neck. He had been abandoned by his team.

The letters carved into his skin were still red. Their resignations were waiting for him on the table. It was for the best. Charlie had never thought about firing his employees for tying him to a fence and leaving him in the hands of a killer because of false accusations. Du'Met had been creative in noticing that Charlie hadn’t died.

He could say everything was fine, but he could certainly no longer trust anyone. Even if they had come back to save him, Charlie wasn’t going to forgive them. He had screamed, cried, and called for help when Mark and Erin left. He had begged with all his strength when Du'Met appeared.

You don’t forget a knife sinking into your chest. Or hands sliding over your belly and chest thoughtfully after tearing your shirt open. Each letter had left Charlie crying and groaning. He could still feel it now, the way the knife in Du'Met’s hands felt like the tool of a sculptor.

The killer knew what he was doing. Whether the idea came to him after tearing open Charlie’s shirt or had been planned all along, Charlie didn’t understand what was written on his chest. A dying man didn’t need to know. Except that Charlie hadn’t been killed. Du'Met had observed his work from behind his mask, then ran his hand over Charlie’s cheek to watch the tears flooding his eyes. And then he left.

Charlie had sobbed until his team returned, knowing full well that he didn’t owe them his life. It was the worst contract breach he had ever experienced. The worst professional experience and the last time he would ever put his life in the hands of strangers. Charlie started to cry. So much for optimism.

Things had been hell. It wasn’t wrong to be bitter about being betrayed. The only accomplices had been his own team. The word was clear on his skin, backwards in the mirror. It was their fault. Charlie began to cry at his reflection, looking at the pitiful, lonely man in the mirror.

Still feeling Du'Met’s hands on him.