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White dots danced behind Jacob's closed eyelids as his head settled back against the subtle cold of the chainlink fence, breathing out slowly. The nicotine hit smoothly, all encompassing. Such a feeling was rare in these days. Even while lost in the bliss of it, he winced at the knowledge that it may be the last time he'd ever welcome it. He ashed the cigarette absent-mindedly, which brought a strained chuckle at a habit only practiced ages ago still second nature these 6 years later in the bunker. Trapped, stuck in place, stuck in time. Jacob's heavy eyes fluttered open, and he savored each detail, the smoke dancing in the stagnant air, the gentle warmth against his fingers- the embers close enough to threaten to burn him, a playful thought against his long since seared flesh.
When it was done, he clasped his hand to his mouth- breathing in the stench of the chemicals, attempting to imprint their mark on his memory. The image of Miller flashed again against his eyelids, and he flinched- such a reaction was becoming harder and harder to counter these days. He inhaled again, trying to use the scent to reminisce of a time where he had sat at the porch of his father's house, the one he had shared with his brothers for a time- but was met instead with the sight of that damned Deputy, their blistered hands outstretched beyond the captivity of the cage he'd placed them in. He could still see the embers flickering in their eyes from the fire he kept just out of reach, just far enough to warm only him.
He tensed at the memory. Unconsented, the memories came flooding back. Of their trials, of how they impressed him- of how he'd thought, at that time, that perhaps he'd met his match. But like all others, they'd faltered where it counted. Once, he'd have been able to convince himself it was their own flaw. That they simply weren't strong enough to carry out what must be done. Now, sitting here in seclusion on a chair long worn down in the darkness of a bunker now on its last legs of performance, the thoughts he'd so successfully managed to repress cried louder once more.
He jolted, grimacing as his gnarled hands gripped at his head, lurching forward as if to brace for an impact instead of wrestle with the thoughts running rampant within his mind. What if they were right? The voice said, and he groaned. No such thoughts would do him any good. And yet, they were persistent- etching at him near daily now. Whispers of doubt clouded his brain, the fog growing thicker and thicker with each day that passed- it didn't help that it was barely possible to keep track of time at all anymore, nobody had even seen the sun since the doors had been shut all those years ago- his teachings had lasted at least, all signs pointing to a successful missions end. His Chosen remained resilient, ever faithful to the Father- but to Jacob, it seemed all he had done in the name of his brother was officially catching up to him, infecting every crevice of his increasingly delirious mind.
They had been conditioned into keeping their oaths blindly, something he had personally saught to acheive, but no such mercy would be offered to him. He knew what they called salvation was merely the result of what he had so masterfully manipulated them to believe. So now, alone with all the time in the world to look passed the wool he'd helped pull over their eyes, the rot stared back. Deeply, grimly, somehow silent yet louder than calling him out for what he was.
A liar. A hypocrite. A delusional weapon he had since turned on himself. In the end, he was alone. Just as he was from the start. There was no point in prolonging the inevitable now. His chance at burning out in a blaze of fire had already passed, all that was left was the echo of an empty room he'd sequester himself in since the dissolution became unignorable.
Without thinking, he loaded his gun. Doing so was second nature, so familiar to him it took him a minute to realize what he wss doing. The cold metal was a welcome feeling in his hand, and it would have disgusted him if he had the energy to self reflect any more than he constantly did. The shame was endless now, just as it was when he was on the street. The suffrage he had endured was never an excuse to him as it was now.
He had always had a tendancy to look at things logically, he understood that even if it were circumstance that had pushed him into taking the path the military had guided him down, ultimately the decisions he made at the cost of others were his burdens to bear. And he did so, gladly. Only such things were not forgivable, something he always knew, but evidently nobody was going to force him to repent for them. Justice was in his hands now.
A part of him couldn't help but grin at the poetry of it- of course there was never going to be anybody to answer for his sins for him. It was only ever him. He had denied his cowardice for longer than most were ever granted the mercy to, but at the same time there was no mercy in living long enough to realize that no matter what, it was always going to end this way. No, don't- please, Jacob, wait! Again Miller's words rang voiceless in the silence, and he pinched his eyes shut. He deserved this. In truth, to be eternally haunted by the consequences of his actions made perfect sense- Joseph had always said as much, hadn't he? Jacob had never truly believed in his brothers words anyway, he had only ever selfishly embraced the opportunity to once again have a purpose. It wasn't like he had ever been honest with the sacrifices Joseph had asked either. He had never put down the bottle, never repented his sins. He had utilized them. He was never sure if Joseph knew and simply ignored this, since it only furthered his goals anyway. The irony of Jacob's inability to sacrifice when he had built his entire reputation around that word left a bitter taste on his tongue.
He steadied his gun, turning it underneath his chin. He angled it upside down, at the base of his throat above his adams apple- one shot, and the bullet should go clean through his brain. If not, Jacob wondered if he really had any say in how slow his death should be anyway. Worst case he bled out mangled and aware. He'd left plenty of people to die in the same position. Why should he have it any better?
A warm tear fell from his eye, and he flinched instinctively. He laughed suddenly, tickled by his own severed nerves. It was a strangled and hoarse sound in his ringing ears. The voices grew louder, and started to overlap. Finally Jacob's laugh turned to panicked breaths, then sobs- an anguished scream rattled his throat and shook his body as the knowledge that even in the moment he had always envisioned he would end up in he still lacked the courage to follow through. Everything he had ever stood for, the only thing he had to distract himself from his own demons was nothing but a lie.
He dropped the gun, and reached for his music box- now rusted and worn from it's constant use. He refused to go on any longer, but he was also determined to at least attempt to silence the voices screaming silently inside his mind. The familiar tune chimed like bells as he held it against his ear, falling to his knees. Still, the cries and begging of the people he had killed rang louder. It was as if they stood beside him, crouched at his side, mouths agape from their inaudible wailing. Their skin peeled and bled and pooled at his knees. Finally, Jacob dropped the box and grappled for the gun, shoving it into his mouth with such ferocity it clacked violently against his teeth. He was so lost in his mania he barely felt it when Joseph's hands ripped the gun away from him, Jacobs finger squeezing the trigger a moment too late. The bullet grazed the side of his face and a warm stream of blood began to pour from the wound, stainibg his brother's hands immediately.
"Jacob, that's enough, Jacob..." Joseph's voice faltered breathlessly.
The thundering of Jacob's still beating heart was all that he heard, and if it weren't for the pale vision of his brother sat in front of him and the shame and anger that ripped through his entire being Jacob wouldn't have even been coherent. His scarred hands grasped at his face and he crooned backward, back to where he had sat only moments ago. Jacobs face twisted, tears streaming freely from his eyes now, mingling with the blood oozing from his forehead. For the third time in his life Jacob felt the bitter horror of defeat consuming him, and another broken laugh bounced and ricochetted within his torn throat.
"You weren't supposed to see." Jacob shifted, wet hands still covering his face. Josephs wide eyes flickered, and a horribly pitiful expression turned over his face. His grip tightened around the gun he had just watched his brother try to kill himself with, protectively tucking it safely behind him. "Oh, Jacob..." his voice trailed in a strained whisper. Sorrow was written in the fine lines peppering Joseph's face, the stress of the present getting even to him.
Jacob knew he wondered too, sometimes. That he doubted himself just as they had all begun to. He had been right about the Collapse, but his leadership was beginning to falter as the rest of them followed suit with the state of what was once the world. As his siblings lost their grip, so did he begin to slip- and without them, he had nary to fall back on.
Joseph's forehesd touched Jacob's, a familiar ritual they had once only done as children. They'd believed it was a sharing of strength at the time. Now, it just felt empty. A desperate attempt to convince them both of the impossible. Jacob had always known better, though. Just not like he did now. "Joseph," Jacob's voice rattled. He exhaled, his breath shakey and dry. "I can't. No more. No more," he repeated, and his shoulders shook as his face twisted to stifle the sob he bit behind pressed lips.
"Jacob, this goes against everything we ever stood for. I still need you. You still haven't completed your mission. Our mission." Jacob stared at his brothers face, so genuine, so gullible to his own words. He looked at him mournfully, and shook his head. He couldn't tell anymore if his brother actually believed what he was saying, or if it was just fodder he fed to him to keep him compliant and cknvince him or concince himself , but Jacob didn't care anymore. It wasn't enough anymore. He couldn't bite back the anger those words surged through him. He chuckled. "Your mission, brother. Yours. You didn't save me. I saved you. You needed me. And I served my purpose. I, am done." Disbelief and anguish contorted Joseph's face, and Jacob hated himself for the vindication the sight gave him. He relished the pain he saw in his own blood. But maybe, for once, he wasn't wrong to. Joseph hadn't even felt it when Jacob picked the gun out from his back pocket, and a shattered breath escaped him as Joseph's eye's fell on it. He instinctively scattered backward, hands up and eyes wild in incomprehension to the scene before him. As Jacob hekd the gun up, trained on the killing shot at his brothers chest, another memory beckoned him, and a genuine grin crawled onto his face. "Do you remember the Deputy?" Jacob breathed.
Powerless and unable to do anything else, Joseph swallowed and nodded. "Of course I do." Jacob's eyes burned as tears continued to prick at them, dry and wet at the same time. "They came close," he choked. "So, so close..." exhaustion suddenly overwhelmed him, and visions of Joseph and John as children danced before him as he had left them the first time. At once, he was too weary. He lowered his hands, but Joseph stayed paralyzed, watching in terror at Jacob's unpredictability.
"That," Jacob breathed. "That would've been a good way to go out." He dropped the gun, and Joseph hesitated. That alone was sign enough to Jacob. Jacob's hand fell to his belt, and he smiled. "Only them. Only they could've done it. That would've been enough for me. But," Jacob's arms shrugged, giving his brother one last once over. "It was always gonna end this way."
At once Joseph's eyes widened, brow furrowed in horror as his mind realized exactly what was about to happen. He must've known he had no chance of changing it, but still he tried. He scrambled towards Jacob, reaching to grab at his wrist- but Jacob had already anticipated this action, and his hand had already gripped at his knife. In only a fraction of a second, he'd swung the knife up and across in a clean slice. Joseph's face was unreadable, an indecipherable expression between horror and denial still figuring out how to etch itself across his face as the blood began to pour.
Jacob held his gaze in that last second, hoping against hope that at least that woukd be enough. The ringing had already started, and the weakness enveloped. His sight began to blur and he slouched to his side, immediately caught in his all too selectively compassionate brother's arms.
The sting of his cut throat barely registered as he began to choke on the hot liquid gushing in and out of his neck. Jacob watched as if in a dream as his brothers face contorted into a mix of agony and anguish, and somewhere in his quickly dissipating conciousness Jacob thought it funny how similarly Joseph looked to the ghosts that had plagued him since he had started taking their lives. He hoped, as he died cradled in the rocking of his little brothers arms, that maybe this irony would be of some peace to those souls. But still he was not surprised that when he joined them in that infinite darkness of oblivion, he met that same deafening sound of silence. He didn't bother to hope he was above hell, but as he joined that chorus of noiseless blaring he took one last selfish comfort in believing it to be better than the short yet undeserved time he struggled through in life. This was the ultimate reoentance he had to offer. It wasn't enough, but shit. Nothing ever would be. So nothing he became.