Book Six, Chapter 89: Raised By Television

I wondered why I hadn’t been pulled apart in the way that Lorne had been.

He had far more Grit, and even though he was the Second Blood sacrifice, I didn’t see any good reason for Tom to take his time with me, any good reason, of course, except for Carousel wanting to get the footage it needed.

I was done for. Alive was a bit of an exaggeration.

In an attempt to keep the shadowy rope around my neck from strangling me, I had jammed my fingers in between the shadow and my neck, and all that had done was get them caught. Maybe if I could have reached down and grabbed the remaining protein bar in my pocket and used it to invoke the name of the Heaven King, maybe then my strangulation would end.

It seemed weird to me that I had just done an exorcism to rid myself of the imprisoned god’s influence. Did that not carry over? It had only been minutes. Shouldn’t that protection still be going? Apparently not. Blessings didn’t transfer.

It was no use. My hands were trapped, and the air was getting harder and harder to find as blood was barely getting to my brain. Kimberly and Kelsey were preoccupied. Antoine was tied down to the offering dish, and Bobby, it seemed, had actually betrayed us.

Even though it felt like my eyes were about to pop out of my head from the pressure, I stared down at him as he tossed more offerings through the reality veil. How many times in Carousel was I going to think we were all on the same page about something, only to find out that wasn’t the case? We had been over this. Heck, even the Vets had lectured him about trying to find his wife.

Was Bobby really going to seal our fate to get his wife back? How long could it possibly last? How could it be worth it to him?

If we lost the storyline, he wouldn’t get to stay with her anyway for more than a scene, even if this god had the ability to resurrect her, which I had my reservations about.

Why would Bobby… what was he looking at?

He kept glancing over toward the wall where all of the newspapers and pictures had been posted, all of the demands the cult had made in exchange for their devotion. I followed his gaze. He was clearly looking at the poster of his wife, Janet. Maybe her image was inspiring him.

It didn’t make sense. On the red wallpaper, he was Infected, but not fully. Whatever this god did, it never fully brainwashed a person. Sure, it let them think they were talking to their loved one, and it was very convincing and soothing, but it wasn’t mind control.

Bobby’s Infection indicator was flickering like a heartbeat. He had enough control. That was no excuse.

A red bolt of lightning hit the wall near Janet’s poster, and an obituary for someone’s best friend just disappeared like it was never there. I couldn’t remember who had put that obit there, someone in the cult. I wasn’t good enough with names to be in an organization like this.

The red lightning was changing reality. I had already figured that out. It was slowly merging the new world and the old, and Bobby was watching, waiting, hoping to see the part he cared about merged. Was he only doing this enough to try to see Janet resurrected? If he were successful in that, would he decide to betray the cult and help us? Surely.

But what if she never came? What if she stayed dead? How far was he willing to go? Would he sacrifice Antoine?

I didn’t want to think about it, and I could tell I didn’t have much thinking left to do. My Dead indicator was almost fully lit, and my thoughts were getting fuzzy.

But if Bobby was doing what I thought he was doing, if he had not fully lost himself in the fantasy of being with his wife again, maybe there was something I could do to help. However much I might regret it later, if we lost, there would be no later.

I stared at Janet’s poster, and I used the Insert Shot on it. It was a weak and feeble version of the Insert Shot, sure. The trope was most potent when used during the Party Phase, and it was already so late into the finale that the poster wouldn’t really be buffed or anything like that. But the Insert Shot did have one further effect that could still be useful.

It put the object in view of the audience. That was it.

That was all I could use it for at that point. If I could just force the cameras to look at that poster, hopefully that would get the ball rolling for what Bobby was trying to do.

But I wouldn’t be around to see it.

Because everything faded to black as the shadow gripped down even tighter, and my fears of suffocation were proven to be unsubstantiated as the shadowy tether tightened a lot faster than I anticipated.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Bobby IV

“Please tell me you’re not really doing this,” Antoine pleaded with Bobby Gill as another watermelon passed through the reality veil.

“It’s nothing personal,” Bobby said. “I have to do this.”

“You don’t have to,” Antoine said. “This is murder. Is this how you want your wife to come back into the world? To know that you were willing to do this?”

Bobby looked up at Antoine and stopped throwing offerings for a moment. “She’s never going to know anything,” he said. “And even if she does, at least she’ll be alive. At least I’ll have been able to save her.”

Antoine thrashed at his restraints with no success.

Bobby continued to throw oblations to the dark god until he uncovered something underneath the various offerings: a long, thin knife. He couldn’t look at it. There was no way he could ever use it, no matter what.

Suddenly, an image surged into his mind, an image of his wife’s missing poster placed onto the red wallpaper. He knew what that meant. He turned to see Riley dangling in the air, staring down at him in his last moments as the shadowy sinews of Tom’s spell ripped his head from his body.

What have I done, he thought. Could he have saved Riley? Was that the right play?

Bobby looked over at Janet’s missing poster. He had to make this work or else it would have all been for nothing. He continued launching oblations into the reality veil, one after another, desperately hoping that after each throw, Janet would be revived.

Nothing was working. He needed a boost. He needed help. But what options did he have?