Chapter Text
Sunday
7 November, 1993
8 Years Later
{ Your name is Pétronille Zabor. }
{ 8 years ago, you failed your one crabbing job. }
{ Keep. Bonbon. Safe. }
{ ... }
{ One night. }
{ One night was all it took for you to lose everything. }
{ One CRABBING NIGHT!!! }
{ You punch your wall. }
{ You leave a crack in it as you remove your fist. }
{ …Crab, now you’re gonna have to pay the landlord that on top of the 3 months late rent. }
{ And you don’t even have a job. }
{ You lost your last one because you freaked out over a plushie that looked too similar to one you saw. }
{ Not a day goes by where you don’t think about what you could’ve done. }
{ Not an hour. }
{ Not a minute. }
{ Not a second. }
{ And yet– }
{ And yet– }
{ A sob rips itself from your throat. }
{ ... }
{ You look over to the counter. }
{ You still have their old action figure set that you carved out of wood for them. }
{ They were always playing with those things. }
{ You look away. }
{ . . . }
{ Your voicemail suddenly rings. }
“Hello, this is Pétronille–”
“And Bonnie!!!”
“Yes, Bonbon, this is Pétronille and Bonnie!”
“Weave a mess-edge at the tone!!! Beeeep!!!”
“It’s message, Bonbon…”
“Whate-”
{ The tone itself rings after you hear Bonbon’s voice cut off. }
“...Hello? Hello? Hey, Pétronille, you remember how you were looking for a job?”
“...Well, I found one for you.”
“You… might not like where it is, but it’s decent pay. Should be enough to pay rent.”
{ You walk up. }
{ Dial. }
“...Hey, Jacques?”
“Oh! Pétronille! So, uh, I…”
“You said there was a job you found for me?”
“Well, yes, but-”
“Do you... remember, the old place? Bella’s Pasta?”
{ Your face drops. }
“...What about it.”
“W-Well- they-”
“...Listen, I- I was gonna say…”
“...T-They’re hiring for the night shift. Security.”
“And why should I work there.”
“I- I… There’s something you need to see there.”
“...”
“...”
“...”
{ You look back at the darkless paper taped to your door. }
{ A 2-week Eviction Notice. }
{ You sigh. }
“...When can I start.”
“Tomorrow. Midnight to 6.”
“...I’ll be there.”
“Alright. C’ya there, Pétronille.”
“Bye.”
{ You end the call and sit back down. }
{ The clock reads 4:13 P.M. }
{ ... }
{ You look at the old newspapers on your counter. }
The Vaugardian Times
23 August, 1986
CEO OF CHEVALIER ENTERTAINMENT FOUND GUILTY
Piece by Charlie d'Jouvente
A landslide verdict last night came out of the “Bella’s Pasta Disappearances” case. All 8 jurors found Julien Cere guilty on four counts of murder following a crucial piece of evidence being brought to light by the prosecutor–a bloodied badge–that links Julien’s name to the spree, discarded in an alleyway. Defenders suspect that Julien is also responsible for the disappearance of Louise Whyte in 1984, although no concrete evidence ties Julien to that particular crime.
Many citizens of Veillemort breathed a sigh of relief as the former CEO was convicted last Friday. Most relieved of all, however, were the families of the four children lost that day. We were allowed an interview with Pétronille Zabor just yesterday.
[CONTINUED ON PAGE 5]
{ You sigh. }
{ You flip over to the advertisements page. }
{ There. }
{ Bella’s Pasta. }
{ You find the phone number on it and dial. }
“Hello?”
“Yes, this is Pétronille Zabor.”
“Oh! Hello!”
“I wanted to see about job openings you have?”
“Uhh- we have… one job open, still.”
“Night guard.”
“I’ll take it.”
“Alright!”
“See you tomorrow night!”
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Monday
8 November 1993
10:53 P.M.
{ You lock your apartment door behind you. }
{ The hallway is dark. Too dark. }
{ The bulb outside your unit has been dead for months. }
{ You never bothered to tell the landlord. }
{ He never bothered to fix anything else. }
{ Your breath fogs in the cold as you step outside. }
{ The night air bites. }
{ You pull your jacket tighter. }
{ It doesn’t help. }
{ The walk to the bus stop feels longer than usual. }
{ Every shadow looks like a silhouette you remember. }
{ Every passing car makes your heart jump. }
{ You keep your eyes on the pavement. }
{ Don’t think. Don’t think. Don’t think. }
{ The bus arrives late. }
{ You climb aboard. }
{ The driver doesn’t look at you. }
{ You don’t blame him. }
{ You sit in the very back, where no one else is. }
{ The city lights smear across the window as the bus moves. }
{ You catch your reflection in the glass. }
{ You look away. }
{ The ride is quiet. Too quiet. }
{ You can almost hear Bonbon humming beside you. }
{ You grip your knees until your knuckles ache. }
{ The bus slows. }
{ Bella’s Pasta looms outside the window. }
{ The sign is half-lit. }
{ The parking lot is empty. }
{ Of course it is. }
{ You step off the bus. }
{ The doors hiss shut behind you. }
{ You’re alone. }
{ Again. }
{ You walk toward the building. }
{ Your legs feel heavier with every step. }
{ The front doors creak when you pull them open. }
{ The smell hits you first. }
{ Old grease. }
{ Dust. }
{ Something metallic. }
{ You swallow hard. }
{ Midnight is close. }
{ You make your way to the office. }
{ The breaker is turned off. }
{ You stare at it for a long moment. }
{ Then— }
{ You flip it on. }