His own words echo back to him, distorted, as if from a great distance. Stones at the bottom of a well. The man in front of him—his face scrunches into a set of hard lines and he moves his head, quick and exact, obeying some animal instinct. A catalog of scents shifts through William's thoughts—scents he slowly realizes he doesn't smell, like someone's rifling through his head in a panic.
Where's her heartbeat? He can almost—he's losing his mind—feel its absence, the pulse where it should be. “It stopped.” Hard to place the voice as his own: it's scraped raw. Her heart stopped and he didn't notice, it just stopped and the world kept going.
The other man lunges. Then something in him seems to snap and he collapses, claws driven into the ground. I killed her. William's fingers dig into the fabric of his coat, one arm crossed over his chest. Different voices crying her name, all of them desperate, and underneath the sound of—not sobs, not moans. Scraps of noise, a voice broken down to nothing.
“I'm sorry,” William says from his safe remove. Tense, watching the heave of the man's body—one swipe of a hand and there would go William's arm. A punch to the gut and he'd be done for. So he stands there with a man crumpled at his feet and a wailing in his head until the shame of it gets to be too much. He inches forward, lowers himself to a knee beside the other man.
He reaches to touch him—fingertips only grazing his shoulder. William breathes in, sets his palm on his back. Human, not metal. Maybe that'll make a difference. “Come back. I need—you to come back.”
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Where's her heartbeat? He can almost—he's losing his mind—feel its absence, the pulse where it should be. “It stopped.” Hard to place the voice as his own: it's scraped raw. Her heart stopped and he didn't notice, it just stopped and the world kept going.
The other man lunges. Then something in him seems to snap and he collapses, claws driven into the ground. I killed her. William's fingers dig into the fabric of his coat, one arm crossed over his chest. Different voices crying her name, all of them desperate, and underneath the sound of—not sobs, not moans. Scraps of noise, a voice broken down to nothing.
“I'm sorry,” William says from his safe remove. Tense, watching the heave of the man's body—one swipe of a hand and there would go William's arm. A punch to the gut and he'd be done for. So he stands there with a man crumpled at his feet and a wailing in his head until the shame of it gets to be too much. He inches forward, lowers himself to a knee beside the other man.
He reaches to touch him—fingertips only grazing his shoulder. William breathes in, sets his palm on his back. Human, not metal. Maybe that'll make a difference. “Come back. I need—you to come back.”