Heathens - Twenty One Pilots
Hatchet
The library smells like dust and ink and old ghosts. My search of the forest was pointless. There was no trace of her beyond the tracks we made when we were out there together. No fresh evidence. Nothing.
Returning inside, something compelled me to come to the library. She’s gone. I know she is. I don’t know how or where or why but I know with every fibre of my being that she’s not on this island anymore.
I sit in the far corner, back to the wall, a book open in my lap. The words blur when the lights flicker. It doesn’t matter. I’m not reading. I just like the weight of paper. It reminds me of quiet. Brings peace where it feels like my whole world is splintering without her.
The alarms stopped about twenty minutes ago. Too clean, too sudden. That kind of silence means someone shut them off on purpose.
Nothing good comes from that type of silence.
Footsteps. Four sets. I close the book and wait.
Nightshade storms in first, all violence and command. Honey behind him, twitching with restless fury. Ghost limping, pale. Bones last, calm as a blade. They look like the aftermath of a war.
Nightshade’s eyes find me. “Hatchet. We’re moving.”
I raise an eyebrow, tilt my head.Why?
“Kayla’s definitely gone. Off the island in the chopper,” Honey blurts. “Taken. The doctor too.”
The words slide through me like cold steel. My hands curl on the table.Takenmeans someone in the asylum did it.Takenmeans there’ll be blood.
“Collateral or complicit?”
Bones adds, “Everything’s been wiped clean in the medical wing. Either Calloway and Kayla were taken together, or the doc opened the door. I think the latter is most likely. Anyway, we’re leaving. Going after them.”
I stand. The chair scrapes the floor – too loud in the hush. My body’s already moving before I’ve decided where to go.
Ghost’s voice trembles. “She’s pregnant.”
Everything stops.
Pregnant.
The word echoes in my skull, hollow and cruel.
My jaw tightens. The Bible on the table catches my eye; I snap it shut, the sound sharp as a gunshot. The gauze bookmark flutters to the floor like ash. Fuck the bible. She’s the only god I need or want.
I look at Nightshade. A question without sound.
His answer is just a nod, slow and absolute. “Mine.”
It shouldn’t hit as hard as it does. But it does. The kind of truth that makes your stomach turn and your pulse climb until it feels like your ribs will split.
She’s pregnant. His. Not mine.
Do I believe him? Does it matter?
Nightshade gestures sharply toward the hall. “We’ve got a chopper waiting. Ten minutes.”
I nod once. Nothing else to say. My throat burns, but no sound comes. It never does.
Instead, I move. Fast. Controlled. Both hands fist tight until my knuckles pop.
We hit the corridor running. The silence follows, thick as fog.
