He ties your arms in front of you this time, but binds them all the way up to the elbow. The leash is also longer, but he loops it several times over the top of his hand to be sure you can't tug it away from him again. He's taking no chances now, you can tell, even with the assurance that he’ll leave the ponies alone so longs you help. You won't be able to get much past him. As he secures you, you notice the brown stains on his hairline and side. The one on his hairline looks like it only stopped bleeding recently.

"She fucked you up pretty good, didn't she?" you say, unable to hold back a grin. “Surprised your jaw isn’t broken.

The man glares at you and pulls your bonds all the tighter. It stings, but you don't care. At least you know Twilight did some serious damage to him before. You hope beyond hope that Twilight has heeded your words. You hope she's nearing home now, and safety. That she'll hug Spike when she sees him, tell everyone what happened, pass along word to Marigold's family. And that she’ll contact one very specific pony. And then, you hope she'll keep everyone else away until all this is over. Maybe she'll even find your body in a few weeks and burry it, assuming this asshole leaves her a body to bury.

That thought doesn't sit well, and you try to push it from your mind.

Once he’s finished trying you, he stands and inspects his work. With a satisfied nod, he jerks you close to him, winding the rope leash across his knuckles once more for good measure.

“Now,” he says slowly. “We’re going to start walking. We’re not going to stop until you take me to where you first got into this fucking place, is that clear?”

You nod.

“And if you try anything weird, I’ll kill you and then your little pony friends. Clear?”

You nod again.

It’s true that images of a possible escapes have flashed through your mind, but he’s right that if you want this to be over, you should just play along. If he’s gone, even if you’re gone too, this world will be better for it. When you nod to him, you truly mean it this time. He smiles halfheartedly at you, still seeming satisfied with how things are going so far.

“Lets go before your little pony girlfriend gets any heroic ideas,” he mutters through clenched teeth.

You feel your stomach twist at the mention of the word ‘girlfriend.’ You glare at him, but you’re sure he can see the surprise behind your anger. He chuckles.

“What, think I didn’t notice?” he asks mockingly. “You don’t do a very good job of cleaning up after yourself, you know. And you think I’m the sick one, you animal fucker you.”

In a fleeting thought, you wonder if the others will notice too and if they'll have anything to say about it. Then he jerks you in front of him and gives you a shove forwards, back away from Ponyville, into the forest. You stumble, surprised at how tired you are. Sure, it makes sense with all the running, the injuries, the stress. But it seems to all catch up with you right now. Maybe your body can sense that there’s not much more it can do, that there’s no desperation or drive now feeling you on with adrenalin. Maybe it can feel that you’ve given up.

Think now, you tell yourself. You have to get to where you woke up that first day. If Ponyville is behind you, that means it’s not far from here. You just have to remember. You scan the forest in front of you for something to remind you, anything. At first, there’s nothing. Then…

You stumbled blindly here, you recount, head bleeding, dizzy. You fell into a ditch, over a thick set of tree roots. You scrabbled in the dirt, confused as to what had happened and how you’d gotten here. Those tree roots maybe? That ditch? You’re not sure yet, but you’ve definitely been here before, and that’s a start. You crawled more often than you walked, head swimming, body mud-caked. You remember being clumsy and confused, like you were still half awake. And when you saw the buildings in front of you, they called to you and you ran as fast as your body allowed.

You fell at Pinkie pies feet, not caring that this was a pink horse with a cotton candy mane. You didn't care that she talked when she noticed you, or that all the other ponies did too. You didn't care about any of that. You were just glad to be somewhere, anywhere at all. It was more natural to be around brightly colored, misshapen, talking ponies than it was for you to be completely alone in those woods.

You trudge slowly forward in front of your captor, eyes to the ground where you exhaustedly crawled so many months ago. You can hear the man grunting behind you, sounding just as tired and pained as you. Without warning, you trip over one of the tree roots and fall face-first into the dirt without your arms free to stop you. You feel the rope go taught and the sound of the man stumbling forward as well. Your elbows find dirt, painfully propping your face away from the ground, and the wind leaves your lungs. The man doesn't seem to fall, and you see his shadow pass over you so that he's standing in front. He growls and drags you forward through the dirt, tugging at you to get up.

“Damn,” he mutters. “What I’d give for a pair of handcuffs right now.”

You blink up at him as you try to get your feet under you. At last, you maintain some balance and he pushes you back in front of him so that you can lead again. Handcuffs? Why would he want handcuffs instead of a rope? You suddenly have a very distinct and very horrifying thought. Is…is he going to rape you? He’s going to rape you, isn’t he. You try to dismiss that idea as ludicrous. There’s no reason to think that, There’s no evidence there, your head just isn’t on straight with all the events up till now. Stop assuming anything, you tell yourself. It could get you into even worse trouble.

“Why?” you grumble as you trudge onward, trying not to sound too suspicious.

He shoves your shoulder to tell you to pick up the pace and to stop asking questions. You quicken your steps very slightly, in no rush to get to your destination.

“Because I do, ok?”

He’s quiet a moment as you move slowly through the forest, and you think that might be the end of the thought. Then he abruptly speaks up again.

“I’m more familiar with them, wouldn’t have to think back to my time in the fucking boy scouts to remember how to tie good knots. Hell of a time, the scouts, though couldn’t stand all the fucking songs, was happy to get into real life from there. At least no one makes you sing at your job. Hey, what did you do for a living back in our world anyway?”

You glare at him over your shoulder. He wants to make small-talk now? Really? After he tried to kill you and Twilight, beat the fuck out of you, hunted you down, and is now leading you around like a toy on a string? Oh, that sounds like a totally sane thing for a killer to do. He shoves your shoulder again.

“Come on,” he urges, returning your glare. “I might decide not to kill you if I like your answers.”

“Oh sure."

"Hey, have I lied to you yet? It might help, you never know, and buddy, you need all the help you can get.”

You doubt it will do any good, but it’s not like you have anything better to do. And maybe if he sees you as human, he’s less likely to murder you in cold blood.

“I’m a student,” you say. “Decent enough grades. Tried sports, was only really good at track though. Worked part time at a pet shop for a bit. That’s about it.”

It’s stunning how vastly mediocre your life sounds laid out like that. He chuckles behind you.

“Sounds relaxing.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Oh suck it the fuck up you whiner,” he says dismissively. "I've never met a student that admits school is easy while their in it. Get into the working world, then come talk to me."

You somehow doubt that's ever going to happen, given he's intending to kill you soon. Besides, the working world here is a little bit different than that back on earth. You don't voice this opinion on your impending death to him though. Best not to remind him.

"I bet your job is hell, right?" you ask him, sounding more sarcastic than you really meant to. "No one really likes their job. Well, except here."

It's true, you realize. No one here hates their work. But then again, they mostly do what their good at and actually want to do, which is a far cry from your world. Once they hit puberty, everything kind of clicks into place, and there’s an actual sign on their body telling them what their calling is in life. They’re so lucky, you muse. None of them will regret how they spend their life.

“And what's so great about this place? You have a good life here? Wild animals, talking fucking ponies, everything so bright and cheery all the time no matter what, and no women so you have to fuck candy-colored horses. In fact, no other people at all, you’re pretty much a freak. You’re fucking deluding yourself," he scoffs, shaking his head as if he pities you. "I mean, Jesus, it’s like an endless trip on the ‘it’s a small world after all’ ride. But with more stupid catchy music.”

You can’t help but snicker at how seriously distressed he sounds. You’ve always found it a nice reprieve from how your life was on earth. A female friend that you were getting nowhere with but wanted like crazy. Low grades, normal everyday boring bullshit. A job that you quit because you couldn’t stand to send unsold puppies to shelters and pounds. Just…general unfairness of everything and a lack of genuine justice or sense. By comparison, this is perfect. In its own way, this place makes actual sense to you in its bizarre rated-G order. He gives your back a sharp punch at your snicker, which knocks that laugh right out of you.

“It’s not fucking funny. I never thought it would be like this.”

“I just don’t see the problem. I mean, you don’t have to act like you are or hurt people. It’s not like you’re alone in the harsh wilderness and being attacked by wild animals,” you mutter.

That’s probably a bit much, but you’re surprised to find that he doesn’t lash out at you. He walks on, and you hear him sigh slowly behind you. When he speaks, his voice is even, maybe even a little sad.

“I’d prefer that,” he says. “I could at least deal with that, work with that. You know how I killed that fucking bear?”

Your stomach tightens. You don’t want to hear this. That bear could be one of Fluttershy’s friends, and they’re all cuddles and love here, like huge ridiculous teddy bears. You don’t want to hear the details of that bear’s death, how this human first disrupted this peaceful place. Unfortunately, it seems like you don’t have much of a choice.

“I’d made a fire because it was getting cold. And all of a sudden this big brown fucker waddles out of the woods with a fish in its mouth. I’m scared shitless and ready to book it, but you know what it does? It takes a stick and skewers the fish and starts to roast it over my fire. I mean, are you kidding me? It’s just sitting there sharing my fire and smiling at me with this fish. I didn’t know what to do at first. And then it kind of half roars at me like it’s being friendly and trying to start a damn conversation. And I figure, maybe this is a trained bear. Maybe it’s all docile and shit.”

You feel sick. You want to shut your eyes, cover your ears but you can’t. All you can do is keep walking and listening.

“And you know, I’ve been hunting before, and I’m thinking to myself that I don’t know how long I’m going to be here, and this bear could make me a pretty useful blanket and a shit ton of food, especially if he’s not a threat. And he’s just sitting there, so it could be the easiest kill I’ve ever had. So I walk over the bear, acting all friendly, sit next to him, see if he’s really that well trained, take out Emily. Fucker doesn't even give a shit that I'm holding a potential weapon. And then I just toss a rock, all nonchalant into the woods. The bear looks and BAM!”

You wince at the word. He swings one arm and lightly taps you on the side of the head to indicate where he hit the bear.

“Right across the back of his head and I hear the crack. And he falls forward, and I’m pretty sure he’s dead, but I keep hitting the back of his head anyway until I can see broken skull because damned if bears aren’t hard to kill in our world anyway.”

You swallow back pain and rage. The bear probably thought the man would be just like you. That he was friendly, friends with Fluttershy, just a nice guy. You probably had met this bear, maybe scratched his head. You taught this bear that humans wouldn't hurt him just by existing. Yet another thing that your presence here has caused.

You also spot the crowbar then, dangling from his belt loop. You wonder how many animals he’s killed with it, how much blood it’s had on it. You know it at least has a good portion of yours, and that it may have more of it sooner rather than later.

“And that’s when I decided, if this is what I get, if this is fucking it that they think I deserve, then I’m going to destroy all of it. Not going to take it sitting down or quietly, because it’s not fair, and for once it’s supposed to be fucking fair. If they expect me to be grateful or accepting for this bullshit they gave me, they’re dead wrong.”

“What are you talking about?” you say, shaking your head. “You keep saying they, who’s they?”

He laughs bitterly.

“Wow, you still don’t get it, do you? Of course you don’t, you’re not even sure how you got here.”

He's right about that, and you're obviously not getting something about this line of conversation. Even as you walk on in silence for a while, curiosity is beginning to creep into your mind, and a ghost of a suspicion, something you never dared to actually consider, is beginning to awaken.

“And how did you get here then, do you even know?” you mutter, still trying to keep the subject on him rather than you.

He’s silent behind you again, and you feel the rope on your wrists go taught as he stops walking for a step before starting again. Once more, his voice has a softer, more reflective tone now, like he’s actually human for a change.

“I stopped to check out an abandoned factory building. There had been reports of vandalism and my partner and I were there first. I had a crowbar in the back of our car from a project at home with the girlfriend, so I was prying a board off the door to get in to check it all out. Didn’t want to duck in the open window, too much broken glass. And I’m standing there, prying at this wood, when there’s a screech and this big fucking green escalade drives past wi-“

Partner? Reports of vandalism? No...

“Wait, wait, hold on a minute,” you say, comprehension spreading coldly over you. “You were a cop?!”

There’s no possible way…but then again, it matches up with some of the things he's said. The handcuffs, the coldness in the face of danger and death and blood. He laughs again, that bitter cynical laugh to match his smile.

“What, surprised? Don't be. Yeah, I was a cop. For two years, maybe the best years of my life, doing my duty to keep the general population safe. I put criminals away, put my life on the line, and this is what I get? This is ALL I fucking get?”

You can hear rage beginning to fill his voice, and his tone is higher, jadedly sarcastic. You're not sure how to respond to this, but you can tell this is not the best situation for you to be in. Even the jerks on your rope are getting more frequent and harsher.

“Sure, I was using the position to get my fix when I needed it," he continues, now dismissive. “I wasn’t perfect no one on the force was. Keeping my dealers around, looking the other way, and maybe I used the position when it came to women on occasion, but I never hit them or nothing. My girl never even knew, so it couldn’t hurt her. I went after the fuckers who deserved it, gave em a little extra love too, just enforcing justice. And none of that pad stuff erases all the good I did. I wasn’t nice, but I was just doing my job. Besides, those fuckers back-stabbed me when they shot me and my partner that day. That's a hero's death, dying in the line of duty. And where was my fucking parade? I didn’t even get to see it.”

“They shot you?”

Your brain is reeling as you almost yell these words. This doesn’t make sense, it can’t make sense. This killer, this crazed man is a cop? You've heard of dirty cops, and you've never really liked cops in general, to say the least. But a cop being a serial killer is like something out of a TV crime drama. It’s such an extreme change, even if it all just points to him loving power. And he was shot? You haven’t seen a mark on him anywhere except what Twilight left. How long has he been here? Not long enough for a bullet wound to heal, assuming he could even survive that.

“Yeah, right in chest,” he says. “Though there was no hole when I woke up. And I wake up HERE? After all I did, God sends me here? No, I’m not standing for that. There are no rules here I’m finding out pretty quick, so I guess all those guys I took down off the streets had it right. This is the way to live, especially if you get sent here anyway after being a fucking cop for two years. But if I can use you to find a way back to my life or at least out of here, then the jokes on them, right?”

He can’t be saying that. What you think he’s saying. You feel cold bile in your throat, and you swallow it down hard.

“Why do you keep saying they sent you here, or that God sent you, wha-”

You feel a hand grip your shoulders. It spins you to face him, and now you are only inches from his face. Your body flies backwards, his hands gripping your shirt and driving back, back. You feel a painful jolt as the back of your head and body hits a tree. He holds you there, toes inches above the ground. Pain shoots though your body and you cough at the sudden and unexpected impact. He holds his face closer to you, looking searchingly into your eyes, and you can’t bring yourself to look away.

There's something there, real emotion. That fake pity you saw before seems quite real now.

“You poor son of a bitch, don’t you get it?” he says in a low murmur. “That gunshot killed me, just like your fall killed you. And the powers that be sent us here.”

Your breath freezes in your lungs. You try to speak, but nothing comes out.

“Do you understand now? We’re dead. We’re both dead…and this is Hell.”

He releases you, and you fall without any resistance to your knees. He steps back to observe you as all this sinks in, but you're hardly aware of him. You're hardly aware of anything. You stare at the earth in front of you, that ground that you first found the day you got here. The day you were running with Miranda, you fell head first down that short ravine. You hit your head. You just hit your head, that was all, right? There was a cave in after that or something, a sinkhole you slipped down to get here, some Alice in Wonderland style rabbit-hole. You don't remember it, but that had to have happened. That’s all there was, right?

But you can’t stop the thoughts from coming. That doubt, that slight distant doubt is talking to you now and you can't help but listen.

When you woke up you were lying on the grass on your back, and you felt peaceful. When you opened your eyes, everything looked so strange, but you weren’t afraid. You were tired, desperate to get somewhere, needing some form of reassurance, but you never felt bad necessarily. It was like coming home, like this is where you were meant to be. And you had that passing thought, that brief moment, where you wondered to yourself ‘Am I dead? Am I dreaming?’ You were dizzy. You crawled. You blacked out, but you never once felt really afraid. And after that, you were never hungry, you only ate because you felt like it. And you were never sad until this man showed up. Everything just always felt so right because…

You breathe in, and the air tastes sweet in your lungs.

You are. You're dead.

The weight of it crushes down on your shoulders, and you can't shake the sudden and overwhelming feeling of loss. It's like waking up a second time, and instantly forgetting that dream you were reveling in only seconds before. Then, something else comes to you. The happiness, the good feelings, the perfection, the dream that this place has been for you...

You really are dead, but this isn’t hell. No. This…this is your heaven.

“Get up, you can cry about it later,” the man shouts, jerking you up off of your knees.

You stand shakily and begin to walk, remembering clearly now where exactly you woke up. It’s close to here, less than a mile now, and the terrain is easy from here on. You trudge on for a while in silence, letting him push you, redirect you without a word of protest. You almost feel numb.

You're dead. You're dead. The thought keeps going through your mind over and over, and while it makes sense, you can scarcely believe it's true. You don’t really want to believe it, but you do now. You feel some amount of horror, but at the same time you strangely, irrationally feel like smiling. Your life here has been perfect, very heavenly in fact. The ponies you've met, the places you've seen. It was all exactly what you wanted, even if you would never have guessed it before. Twilight loves you, Marigold, young though she was, had a crush on you and treated you so sweetly. Pinkie gave you an amazing place to stay, Rainbow Dash was a fantastic friend. Rarity was support for you when you asked, and Applejack gave you something to do when you felt useless. Really, it was everything you could have asked for. More than you deserved.

Until he came, of course. Everything changed after that. There was pain again, suffering. Maybe it will go back to being free of all that once this man is gone. You'll probably be gone too, if he does intend on killing you. But at least this place will regain what it had before both of you were here. One question suddenly comes to you, and you swallow hard as you suspect you know the answer. Still, you can’t help it. You have to ask.

“If we’re dead, what makes you think we can get back? Our bodies will be buried or cremated or whatever. And why are we going to where I showed up, why not where you showed up?”

He chuckles, and you’re chilled by how absolutely amused he sounds now.

"You said you'd help me, right?"

"Yeah."

“Well, we can bleed here, right? So, we can die here too probably, but what happens when you die and you’re already dead?”

“I don’t know, why does it matter?”

“Well,” he says softly, and you feel the cold spark of the crowbar resting against the side of your neck. “I think when you die here you might go back. It makes just about as much sense as anything else here. But we’ve got to test that theory now, don’t we? And since you’re the only other human here, you’re going to help me find out.”

You gulp down a breath of air and don’t respond. You knew it was coming to this, but didn't want to say it. You feel the crowbar leave your neck.

"Hey, I've never lied to you. I told you I'd probably kill you eventually."

As if on cue, you see the opening of the clearing in front of you, smell that mild waft of daisies and moist grass. The sun beams down onto the empty patch of earth near the center, padded with moss and mushrooms, and the wind blows a few white flower petals from a nearby blooming tree. Peace fills you at the sight of it as the scents and sights provoke a memory of that very first night. And you know this is where you were dead once. You know this is where you first awoke to your new life, your heaven.

The man sighs behind you and the peaceful feeling is gone.

"Your gravesite I presume?"

You swallow hard, realizing that this may have once been the place where you died. And worse, that it may be that again very soon.

Author's Note

Ok, so, to everyone who is currently rage-quitting this story, thank you for reading. I appreciate that you got this far, and I do not blame you one bit.

I will say a very brief word in my defense though:
When I wrote this part, the whole "Equestria is heaven" was still a pretty new thing. Not perfectly new, but not as widespread and overused as it is now. In fact, RIGHT after I wrote this part, I saw a comic of someone dying in the hospital and waking up in Equestria. I was kind of a little really mad. I know that most other writers have had the experience of going "HEY this is a great idea!" writing it, then finding out that someone else not only did it before you, but that they did it better.
Uuuuugh. So this is a cliche now. I'm not a death-Equestria hipster, I didn't do it before it was cool. I just did it before I knew it was already a thing and before it got intolerably common. It's frustrating to re-read this part, knowing and seeing all I do now in the world of mlp fanfiction, but it is what it is. And it does feed the plot from here on out the way I intended.

And for those mad about the cop thing...hahaha wow, I could NOT have predicted the media shitstorm going on right now about police brutality and corruption. This is NOT aimed at anything involving any of that, so let's not even go into that. I watch a fuckton of film noir. I am easily inspired by such things. Him being a cop is not even slightly inspired by any true events.

For those who are going to finish this story out with me, I do thank you. There is one more part, then an alternate ending (with a lengthy author's note from me about this, as well as some tips about writing some stuff.) So in the end, this is 11 parts, rather than 12. Either way, you're almost through, so thanks for sticking around.

See you for the big finale soon!

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