[Ash rips his eyes away from Cheryl to look back at Quentin, aghast.]
Nothing! I didn't do anything!
["Yes you did!" Cheryl wails as she shields her face from Quentin and Ash with her hands, her shoulders rising and falling in quick, jerky motions. "You locked me down here! You abandoned me!"
And there it is. It's a dirty trick, the knife to the heart he saw coming a mile away, but that doesn't make it any less painful. Ash's breath starts to hitch again. His heart feels like a panicky bird trapped in his chest, trying to free itself, drumming along with the chainsaw's engine.]
I didn't—
["Don't lie!" Cheryl's voice cracks, shrill with anger. It's the kind of tone she used to take when she and Ash would argue when they were kids. "I heard you and Scott talking, after you buried Shelly," she continues, low and venomous. "You were going to take Linda and leave me here to die!"]
I didn't have a choice. [Though his eyes are trained on Cheryl, Quentin is the one Ash is really talking to. His gaze quickly darts between the two of them, more often than not going to the ragged chunks of flesh on the side of Quentin's head. Sweat rolls down his face, plastering his bangs to his forehead in messy dark curls, but his mouth is so dry. He swallows hard.] Linda, she— you killed her, Cheryl.
["No, Ashley. You did."
Something flickers out of the corner of his eye, and Ash turns his head just in time to see the film projector in the corner of the cellar switch on. He watches, entranced with horror, as the reels begin to spin and a grainy image that could have been plucked straight from his memories plays on cellar wall: him and Linda, upstairs in the living room, fighting over the ritualistic dagger Scott had found with the book and the recorder in the basement. It had been just after Scott had finally bled out, leaving Ash well and truly alone.
Ash watches himself twist Linda's wrist behind her back. He pushes her. She falls and lands on the dagger, the blade going straight through her spine, vomiting blood and milky white bile out of her mouth in a silent movie scream.
"You killed her," Cheryl repeats, her voice a million miles away. "She was dead the moment you found that book. All of us were."
The images keep coming, one after another. Ash watches chunks of Shelly's torso and one of her severed arms twitch obscenely on the cabin's blood-splattered floor. He watches himself jam his thumbs into Scott's bone-white eyes. He watches himself, on his back on the living room floor, pick up the shotgun and take aim at the front door, shooting Cheryl in the shoulder as she tries to force her way inside.
Ash makes a helpless noise from the back of his throat as he watches himself dig a hole behind the cabin. Watches as he swings the shovel at Linda's body as it crawls after him in the dark, watches her head roll off somewhere in the dirt as her body falls on top of him and pins him to the ground, spraying his face with dark red blood. Her bare legs are still kicking. He can't look away.]
no subject
[Ash rips his eyes away from Cheryl to look back at Quentin, aghast.]
Nothing! I didn't do anything!
["Yes you did!" Cheryl wails as she shields her face from Quentin and Ash with her hands, her shoulders rising and falling in quick, jerky motions. "You locked me down here! You abandoned me!"
And there it is. It's a dirty trick, the knife to the heart he saw coming a mile away, but that doesn't make it any less painful. Ash's breath starts to hitch again. His heart feels like a panicky bird trapped in his chest, trying to free itself, drumming along with the chainsaw's engine.]
I didn't—
["Don't lie!" Cheryl's voice cracks, shrill with anger. It's the kind of tone she used to take when she and Ash would argue when they were kids. "I heard you and Scott talking, after you buried Shelly," she continues, low and venomous. "You were going to take Linda and leave me here to die!"]
I didn't have a choice. [Though his eyes are trained on Cheryl, Quentin is the one Ash is really talking to. His gaze quickly darts between the two of them, more often than not going to the ragged chunks of flesh on the side of Quentin's head. Sweat rolls down his face, plastering his bangs to his forehead in messy dark curls, but his mouth is so dry. He swallows hard.] Linda, she— you killed her, Cheryl.
["No, Ashley. You did."
Something flickers out of the corner of his eye, and Ash turns his head just in time to see the film projector in the corner of the cellar switch on. He watches, entranced with horror, as the reels begin to spin and a grainy image that could have been plucked straight from his memories plays on cellar wall: him and Linda, upstairs in the living room, fighting over the ritualistic dagger Scott had found with the book and the recorder in the basement. It had been just after Scott had finally bled out, leaving Ash well and truly alone.
Ash watches himself twist Linda's wrist behind her back. He pushes her. She falls and lands on the dagger, the blade going straight through her spine, vomiting blood and milky white bile out of her mouth in a silent movie scream.
"You killed her," Cheryl repeats, her voice a million miles away. "She was dead the moment you found that book. All of us were."
The images keep coming, one after another. Ash watches chunks of Shelly's torso and one of her severed arms twitch obscenely on the cabin's blood-splattered floor. He watches himself jam his thumbs into Scott's bone-white eyes. He watches himself, on his back on the living room floor, pick up the shotgun and take aim at the front door, shooting Cheryl in the shoulder as she tries to force her way inside.
Ash makes a helpless noise from the back of his throat as he watches himself dig a hole behind the cabin. Watches as he swings the shovel at Linda's body as it crawls after him in the dark, watches her head roll off somewhere in the dirt as her body falls on top of him and pins him to the ground, spraying his face with dark red blood. Her bare legs are still kicking. He can't look away.]