Laurence’s head swam as he sank in and out of consciousness. He’d seen so many potential futures, Quentin desperately seeking help and being denied at every turn as Frederick took actions to prevent him, that Laurence wasn’t sure whether any of those futures were viable any more.

Time had begun to feel less like a river and more like an undertow. It was dragging him under and he couldn’t see which way was up any more. Every time he surfaced he didn’t know whether this was a vision or reality or one of Freddy’s illusions, and he sank again rather than fight it.

He surfaced again, and heard water. The gentle splash of a brook or small stream. He debated ignoring it, but it wouldn’t go away.

The air smelled fresh and clean, crisp like a winter morning.

Cold as one, too.

Heroi-

SHUT UP!

He pushed his hands against the cold, hard earth and managed to get to all fours before he opened his eyes.

Mist stretched out before him, thick and white like a cloud.

Laurence blinked a couple of times and glanced to either side, where he found trees which were part-way through shedding their autumn colors.

He stood cautiously and dusted the dirt from his palms, then checked himself.

Naked as the day he was born.

Laurence bit his lip and took a hesitant step toward the mist. Was this really Otherworld, or a dream, or was Freddy messing with him in new and horrible ways because he’d grown bored of the old horrible ways?

Every time hope dared peek above the parapet, Freddy crushed it back down, and the closeness of the American embassy had squeezed all life out of Laurence’s dying dreams of freedom. He still had no way to tell whether he’d even made it that far in person, whether Mark had existed, or if Laurence had really run out in front of a car.

And now he had no way to know whether this was really Otherworld, or another way to ruin his already-extinct optimism.

He almost couldn’t be bothered to take another step. What would be the point of it? He’d get in there, smell apples, and think he’d found a way out of his hellish reality, and just when he truly began to believe it Frederick would snatch it away.

Again.

Quentin was alive and conscious, though. Laurence had to cling to that. Despite what Freddy had told him, there were still futures in which Quentin was mobile. Walking. Talking. And that meant he’d blacked out, lost everything Freddy said, but it also meant he was still functioning.

While Quentin was still free, Laurence could have some hope.

He forced his foot to move.

One step at a time, half-aware of what he was doing, he pressed on until the mists closed in around him and he could smell apples.

* * *

He followed the trail to the shore of Avalon and stumbled to a halt. His feet were wet.

Laurence sighed as he slumped down to his knees, then sat to one side and rubbed his eyes. He was still here, still aware. No visions had come to taunt him, and there was no sign of Freddy.

He wasn’t going to risk it, though. The moment his heart lifted, that would be the end of it. He’d be willing to inject whatever the fuck Mikey put within reach and to hell with life.

He heard the shifting of earth, a pattern of footsteps, but didn’t look up. If he could delay Freddy’s arrival by another thirty seconds it was worth it.

Who knew how long it took for the footsteps to reach him. His hearing was dulled by a lack of sex and a lack of interest, but when the toes entered his downcast field of vision, they were attached to small and delicate feet.

Laurence blinked slowly.

The person whose knees they were sank down to her own, then she dipped her head to try and catch Laurence’s eye. “I’ve seen you before,” she said. “Haven’t I?”

He sighed and rubbed his jaw. He hadn’t shaved since Freddy had taken him captive, and his stubble was slowly creeping toward becoming a beard, soft beneath his fingers. The new growth itched a little. “Maybe? I was here…” He shook his head. “Couple of months ago, I think? I can’t remember.”

She nodded slowly. Her brown hair tumbled over her shoulders as she continued to lean low enough to see him, some of it brushing across the ground. Her skin was white and dotted with pale freckles, but her eyes were a piercing blue. She couldn’t have been a day over thirty. “Yes,” she agreed. “You saw Morgan, that’s right. You came for Carnwennan. I remember now.” She offered a gentle smile. “Naked then, too. That’s how I recognized you.”

Laurence blinked sluggishly and cast a glance her way.

She laughed and covered her mouth with her hand while her cheeks pinked. “What? You’re a handsome man.” Then her laugh faded. “But you are hurt. Can you walk?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “It’s a long way, and I’m really fucking tired.”

She nodded at him. “I’ll help. Here.”

Laurence did his best to find the energy, but for the most part he only made it to his feet because she pulled him up. She even ducked beneath his arm so that he could lean on her to walk, and while he scrunched up his face to complain, she huffed at him and shook her head.

“What’s your name?” She began to steer him toward the village.

“Bambi.”

“Emma,” she said. “I see no physical injuries. Your wounds are psychological, I presume?”

Laurence blinked slowly and looked toward her at her casual use of such a modern word. “You’re recent?”

“I am.” Emma nodded slightly. “But you know how Avalon works. If you have found your way here, it’s because you are in dire need.”

“I’m really here?” He laughed at himself for asking such a dumb question.

“If you were physically here you’d have clothes,” she chuckled. “You’re projecting. Your mind has come, because your mind is what needs healing. What’s so funny?”

Laurence straightened himself up slowly, trying to take his weight off her shoulders. “What’s funny is that it’s a total waste of time asking you whether any of this is real. If it’s an illusion you’re gonna agree with me anyway.”

“That’s true.” She chuckled. “Perhaps you should speak with Morgan.”

“I don’t know.” He winced faintly. “I already owe her one favor. I have no way of knowing whether I can afford another.”

“Then at least join me for supper, and rest yourself a while?” Emma gestured ahead. “Drink of the waters and be replenished for your battle.”

Laurence bit his tongue and forced himself to stop leaning on her altogether. “I’m okay,” he said. “I can do it. I just don’t know if I should.”

They walked quietly for a while. It took most of Laurence’s shreds of will to ascend the gentle slopes of the shore and pass on to the hills of the isle.

“Why do you think you should not?” Emma eventually asked.

“Because I’m a prisoner, and the guy who’s holding me is trying to break me. If I get healed, he’ll just start over.” Laurence’s shoulders sagged as they reached the collection of simple houses which formed the village. “I don’t know if I can do it all over without going crazy. And that’s what he wants, you know? He’s deliberately trying to destroy everything I am, and if I lose my mind he’s won.”

“Is there hope of escape, or of rescue?” She led him toward one of the nearer houses.

“Hope?” His laugh was feeble.

“I see.” She patted his arm lightly. “Then we shall speak with Morgan and see whether she has wisdom to offer.”

“But-”

“Bambi.”

He stumbled, then stopped, and frowned to her. “Yeah?”

Emma planted her fists on her hips, and lifted her chin. “Your mind is injured. Allow me to make this decision for you. You may chose to ignore her thoughts, but you will at least listen to them.”

Laurence huffed at her, then threw up his hands in surrender. “Are all the British like this?”

“Stubborn?” She winked at him. “Of course we are. Now get inside and sit down.”

He lacked the strength to argue, and settled himself on the floor of her simple home.

If nothing else, at least he had found some space in which to breathe.