“You fucking monster! How could you?! You just let her die! You let her fucking die!” Molly cried.
Her glossy eyes stared a hole through Rock.
Rock stood stoic, staring forward at the giant monitor.
He tried to ignore Molly’s harsh words, but they weren’t completely lost in him. If the room wasn’t so dark, the other grieving parents would have seen the subtle crack forming in his expression. The growing gash of guilt on his lips. An understanding of the evils that had attached to him like a leech inside a lake.
“My baby’s gone! My baby’s gone!” Molly continued.
Tom sobbed uncontrollably as he reached for her hand, but he couldn’t find the words to distract her. There was no way for him to compartmentalize his feelings any longer. Grief that no parent should have to digest expanded inside him. Drool poured from his mouth as an unignorable sequence of hysterical sobs rattled off his lips.
Rock tried his best to disregard Molly’s words and Tom’s devastation. What they were saying made too much sense. The guilt in his gut was as salty as the wounds he’d seen on CJ’s back. It was a first; no one had ever loomed over his shoulder to offer such an agonizing commentary.
In past instances, while piloting the Playground, Rock was completely detached from the parental side of the trauma. He had simply watched each lone child find their way to an untimely demise. The deaths were swift, and the tension was low. Geraldine tasked him with cleaning up the remnants of violence. But the leftover limbs and ravaged carcasses had little to say.
There was never a protest or philosophical insight to offer. Those elements had long left the children by the time he’d become responsible for them.
Rock likened the current situation to what it might’ve been like had he been forced to visit the homes of the little boys and girls he’d disposed of.
“She didn’t even have a chance!” Molly yelled.
Rock retracted into his damaged mind like a turtle tucking into its shell to protect itself. Suddenly, the familial cries and groaning were no longer harassing him. Rock focused on his half of an internalized argument.
Maybe it ain’t the worst thing. Not having a chance might be the best thing she ever got. I got a fuckin’ chance, Rock thought.
 |
 |
 |
Greg remained horrified, but the water in his eyes had dried over his stressed cheeks. The surreal feeling of his loss continued to weigh heavy on his mind. But now that he’d seen one child die before his eyes, it felt like someone had slapped him across the face. While the Grimleys fractured into shambles, he felt himself awaken.
He squinted at the big bastard watching over them in the darkness, then back to the TV screen. Greg had already lost his wife, but his children had survived. He was grateful for that much, especially for his prospects, CJ, and to a lesser extent, Kip.
The uber-competitive, shameless piece of shit that stood on the sidelines living vicariously through his own children had returned. Greg’s warm thudding heart slowed as an icy, calculated intensity cascaded over it.
His eyes slid back to the big screen ahead. Close-ups of the Grimley kid looking like a can of crushed tomatoes didn’t make him feel good. But it made him feel grateful.
Better theirs than mine, Greg thought.
