The gentle breath of the air conditioner balances out the heat that comes from the stove he stands before. The familiar pop and sizzle of the bacon in the pan is just louder than the voices in the living room. He doesn’t have to see to know that Callua, Shae, and Jace are all gathered on the couch with a game laid out on the coffee table.
They’re waiting for him to finish dinner. He wants to hurry as well so he can join them. Zye flips the knob to turn off the burner and pushes the pan aside. Once he’s sure it’s safe, he shifts in place to ask them a question when he stops.
He can’t remember what it is he wants to say. Brows furrowing, he turns completely and holds onto the counter as if to anchor himself.
Something is off.
The walls look like they’re blurred and the color is fading. The television is nothing but static. What’s worse is when his three friends wiggle in their seats to look back at him.
They don’t have faces. They’re hard to see as if he’s looking through the lens of a camera and it’s out of focus. Zye pinches his eyes shut, takes a breath, and opens them. Surely that’ll fix it.
Except it only gets worse. The faces aren’t an issue when they’re all gone. It has panic bubbling in his stomach— he can’t lose them. His nails scratch over the tile counter as he glances back toward the stove.
A dark brown sludge overfills the pan and begins to ooze out. It spreads fast with a sickening smell that reaches his nose. A mixture of wet mud, rust, and rotten food. It has his stomach churning.
Shoving away from it all, Zye brushes his hands across his jeans in hopes none of it got on him. He watches as more of the same gunk begins to drip down the walls and from the cabinets. It fills the stove top and seemingly crawls across the counter toward him. As if little pieces stretching out to slap against the tile and drag itself across it.
“Guys?”
Silence is his answer.
“Fuck this.”
Zye spins around and makes a mad dash for the living room. There’s no sign that the three of them were there in the first place. It has the dread clawing up his legs and digging into him. Fight or flight is hard to resist as he goes for the front door next.
Slinging it open, he stares at the empty night outside. No people or cars to be seen. A glance back and his eyes widen. The breath is hot and scratchy as it catches in his throat. A small whine slips from between his clenched teeth. His fingers tremble as he turns, clutching at the door frame as he does.
“It’s not real. It can’t be real.”
On the floor where the coffee table and couch should be lie Callua and Jace. They both lie on their sides, reaching toward him with their lifeless eyes staring up at him. The same black that dribbles down the counters in the distance also drips from their eyes and mouths.
He can’t help but stare. As if doing so will make them move or their chests to rise like they’re breathing. Something they rarely do, to begin with. His fingers tremble from where they hold onto the molding around the door.
It takes everything in him to ignore the nearly unrelenting desire to rush to their sides.
“Fuck!”
Zye spins around, nearly tripping as he steps out onto the front porch with the door slamming shut behind him. His back presses against the wood with one hand on the doorknob. Clutching it tight, he prays that it doesn’t open.
He’s breathing too fast. He knows if he can’t calm down he’ll hyperventilate. Not that it stops the hot tears from gathering at the corners of his eyes. Part of him wants nothing more than to run back inside. The other can’t face it if it’s true.
“They can’t be dead… This can’t be real…”
The harsh yellow light flickers overhead. It glints off something in front of his feet. A small coin barely within reach. All he has to do is let go of the door.
Curious, he does just that and steps forward. He bends over and scoops up the coin. Turning it over in his fingers stirs a memory. One that reminds him that he lost this once before. Sigil gave it to him and Jace told him it would keep him safe.
It didn’t.
“This isn’t real…” he murmurs to himself.
If only it would end. This doesn’t make any sense.
Goosebumps speckle down his arms as a chill races up his spine. He can feel it before he hears it. The soft, stuttering creak of the door opening behind him. A noise accented by the cold that wafts out to brush over his bare feet.
Zye backs up and turns, clutching the medallion as if it can save him. He glares at the dark tendrils that curl around the door and plop down onto the ground before him. They ooze the same slime as they begin to curl toward his feet.
All he can do is shout as one snaps toward him with surprising speed. He doesn’t see it move, only that it wraps around his ankle and gives a rough tug. A single attempt that has him stumbling forward. Before Zye can grab for anything another tendril snatches his other leg. Together, they yank him off his feet.
Déjà vu.
The sickening crack of his head hitting the concrete has lightning shuddering behind his eyelids. The pain is nothing compared to the fear that seizes around his heart.
It can’t happen again.
Trying to open his eyes, he can faintly hear the sound of the coin hitting the ground. He barely recalls letting go. Only the way it tink, tink, tinks away from him until he can’t hear where it’s gone.
Darkness is all he’s left with. An inky black doorway with countless cerulean eyes speckling throughout it. They’re of all sizes and shapes. It’s so dark he can’t tell where one creature begins and another ends.
What he can see are the pairs of hands reaching for him. Hands that any other time, he’d eagerly grab for in return. If he looks hard enough he can see their eyes peering at him from the darkness like the others.
“Don’t leave us,” they say in unison. Twisted and breathless versions of Jace and Callua’s voices that seem to meld together into one.
It has his stomach burning and his throat clenching tight. Trying to kick at the things holding him does little to nothing. Grabbing the door frame as he’s slowly drug back inside only stalls the inevitable. While his nails dig into the wood and scratch over the surface, more tendrils are slipping out to grab for him.
They poke, stab, and claw over his body as their tugs grow relentless. Jace and Callua’s hands latch onto him. Their slick fingers glide over any exposed skin while nails scratch him in an attempt to find purchase.
He can’t hold on forever. One glance back inside has him wishing he could. Each fingertip that lets go has him trying to pull up and readjust his grip before it’s too late.
Yet he can’t.
They rip him away from the molding. In one last desperate attempt to grab for it, he ends up on his stomach. Except he’s too late. All it allows is for him to see the way the door slams shut, snuffing out the porch light, as he’s yanked inside.
________________________
25Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFJzKtyiCQG
Zye’s eyes snap open to see the ceiling of his room. His new room. The soft tones of a sunrise that shimmers across the space above him and around what is the light fixture is a sharp turn from the never-ending nightmare. A sparkling white orb bathes the room in a soft glow as if to soothe away the darkness that had clung to him in his sleep.
His fingers tremble as he cups his hands to his face. It takes more concentration than he cares to admit to stop the way he pants heavily— quick, shallow breaths that make him lightheaded and nauseous. His palms drag up over his face and wipe away the sweat on his brow.
Moving isn’t an option. Thinking dares to bring up the images of his nightmare behind his eyelids and he doesn’t want that either. Yet he knows he needs to, he has to work through this or he’ll end up as a huddled mess on the floor.
He never thought he’d have these types of dreams again. Something reality is quick to prove wrong the second it’s gotten the chance. It makes him miss Hax and how sleeping seemed so safe with their souls nestled together.
There’s a knock in the distance. Four heavy thuds that he chooses to ignore.
Instead, he focuses on the facts he can grab through the haze clouding his thoughts.
“They were here last night and we made dinner. They’re fine. Jace slept here. I’m in Solis. I’m fine. Yeah, fine.”
More knocking.
It grows more persistent before stopping abruptly. It’s the only sign he gets before Kerse’s words intrude upon his thoughts. He can only rationalize it as he’s mentally a mess. There’s no way he can filter out the message coming in.
“I know you’re in there. Come on worm, you’re late. Let’s go already.”
Begrudgingly, Zye pushes himself to sit up. He stares at the ajar bedroom door with a wish that it’d open. If Jace or Callua could walk back through it he knows he’d breathe a little easier. At the same time, he doesn’t want them to see him coming out of his skin like this.
He reaches up and places a hand over where his heart should be— would be if he had one. There’s no thump beneath his palm. Only the light sheen of sweat across his skin. Even still, he knows it’d be beating out of his chest if it were there.
There’s a part of him that doesn’t want to move off the bed. Another says the only way to get past the feeling of wanting to sink through the floor is to move. The fear is paralyzing when each time he blinks he can see it.
The two people he cares so deeply for are dead on the floor. The cold stares they gave him. The way their hands reached out for help and yet he couldn’t do anything. Their voices pleading for him as he tried to get away.
Zye pinches his eyes shut while his fingers curl into the sheets to the point his knuckles turn white. All he can manage is a small prayer his mother taught him when he was little and believed those monsters, the Nether, were there to carry him away.
It soothes him enough to stop the slight shake to his knees as he sits in the center of the bed.
He doesn’t want to let Kerse in. In the same breath, there’s a voice in the back of his head that tells him he’s better with someone than alone. Maybe just having her in the other room will push him to get ready and calm his nerves.
Push it down. Keep moving. Don’t perish under the weight of the possibilities that aren’t written in stone.
“Door’s open,” Zye replies telepathically.
The last thing he expects is to hear the door open and shut so quickly. He can’t believe his Mark is that fast and that Kerse is already right there. It propels him up off the bed. Zye wobbles to the door and calls out around it.
“Be right out!”
He hopes it doesn’t sound as bad as it does in his head. Keeping the strain from his voice is hard. Not that it matters. Once he shuts the door and turns his back to it, he believes he’s safe in many ways. She’s in the other room waiting for him so he’s not alone with his thoughts. The fact she is waiting pushes him to hurry.
Zye moves toward the bed and snatches up the shirt he threw to the floor last night. Standing upright, he nearly jumps out of his skin when he notices the door opening out of the corner of his eye. He spins around to see Kerse there in the threshold with her chin tilted up, observing him.
“What are you doing? Ever heard of privacy?”
“You don’t sound good. Or look it. If you’re not feeling well go soak, sleep, and we’ll train next time.”
For a moment, he stares back at her. It seems too easy. Worse yet that she’s able to come to that conclusion already. Still, Zye considers himself lucky. She’s not Jace. If he agrees, surely she’ll leave him be.
“Sure, yeah. Just…thanks. See you later.”
Zye intends to end the conversation by giving her a view of his back. Something that doesn’t go over well when he finds her nails biting into his skin ever-so-slightly as she grabs his shoulder. She yanks at him to make him turn back to her. As he stumbles to do so, he ends up staring down into piercing crimson eyes beneath furrowed brows.
“What?” Zye asks. “Don’t you have anyone else to train with?”
“Celeste told me I should be more upfront when I’m friends with someone. Or trying to be. Even if you’re being an ass.”
“And that means you’re not leaving?”
“You’re distressed. Why?”
“It’s nothing.”
Kerse scoffs and squeezes his shoulder. “Liar. You think I can’t tell when someone is? You’re as bad as Haru was. Can’t lie for shit.”
“I’m not lying! I’m fine, just didn’t sleep well.”
Her eyes narrow. “Why?”
Zye knocks her hand away and steps to the side. “It was a nightmare. Nothing special. I’ll do what you say and get some more sleep if I have to. It’s fine, so let it go.”
This has her loosening her grip until her palm drags down his chest. She pulls it back to her side as she bows her head. “A nightmare…” Kerse murmurs.
He’s not sure what to do trapped between her and the bed. Even more so when she suddenly shoves him backward until the backs of his knees hit the edge and he plops onto it, bouncing slightly. He glares up at her, frustrated with the sudden bout of aggressiveness.
That and being stuck between a rock and a hard place.
“Dammit Kerse, I’m not in the mood for your bullshit.”
“Too bad.”
“I can’t deal with this. Go train and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He glares at her stomach. The courage to push her away is waning. Looking at her face would only make him lose the nerve to do so. Until she starts talking.
“I didn’t have dreams or nightmares until I took Charm’s magic. After that, it was every night. I stopped sleeping and stopped cleansing hoping that’d make them end. It was fine as long as I took out Nether. It gave me energy to keep going while I had no goal.”
Sitting, he can look up to see her face even with her head bowed. He knows a look of pain when he sees it. If nothing else, he knows she’s doing exactly what he is. Remembering the things that scare him when he’s vulnerable and sleeping is the last thing he wants to do. It’s surely no different for her.
A single look that dashes away the want to run away. He can’t leave her standing here after that.
“I’m…sorry, Kerse.”
“It was always her dying. Over and over with her blood covering my hands. Can’t wipe it off. Can’t look away. I failed her even if she says I didn’t. I have to atone for that.”
Zye doesn’t know what to say. He promptly decides that saying anything could be the wrong move. Instead, he lowers his head as she sits next to him. The bed dips in and he adjusts so that they don’t slide into one another. After a moment of silence, she huffs loudly.
“It’s your turn.”
“That’s not how it works.”
“I was told otherwise. Haru said you’re supposed to share. It’s time I listened to all of the advice he tried to give me.”
Zye gives her a furtive glance before locking eyes with his hands. They clasp and unclasp atop his slightly spread knees. He’s not sure what to do when he can’t run away from the situation. It’s stranger still that it’s with Kerse and not Jace or Callua.
Finally, he gently shakes his head to try and focus lest she admonish him for his silence once more. No one else like them seems to want to talk about it. Therefore he uses that as his easy out. “Dying is scary.”
“Tell me what happened. How did you die?”
The soft monotone is comforting. It urges him to give in and say it. Maybe doing so will allow it all to slip out so that it doesn’t fester in his soul until he can’t breathe. Just like he used to let it. Even if that’s not the full problem perhaps it could help.
“Dammit… It sucks to talk about. It was some tiny Nether that got its claws in me. That’s all.”
“Mortals can’t usually do anything against them that I know of.”
“Yeah. I mean, it’s just a memory, right? A feeling that got drug up. I’ll be fine.”
Kerse hums in a deep tone. It strikes him because it’s something Hax used to do. He recalls it like a faded memory that slowly gains color again. It draws him in as he closes his eyes, trying to lock onto it.
He’s not sure if it’s because Orion tampered with his memory or if it’s because Hax is gone that it grows more vivid. Then again, he’s sure Hax did some finagling of his own the longer he tries to focus on the fringes of the memory.
It takes him back to a rainy night when he was out too late. He was much shorter when he was a teenager and it was easy for Hax to cradle his beaten and drenched body close. An umbrella rolled off to the side where the culprits stood.
No longer are the ones in his memory kids he never saw before or again. They’re Nether, small and crawling across the ground like spiders with long spines arching off their backs.
“Zye?”
Kerse’s voice snaps him out of it so easily that he wants to groan. An overwritten memory— he wonders how many of those he has and doesn’t realize. Frustrated, he doesn’t respond to her. Silence is his comeback.
“Sounds like this is about what happened to Callua. Zye, are you afraid of losing them more than dying?”
It’s a gut reaction the way he turns his head to look at her with narrowed eyes. The glare doesn’t scare her away and he wishes it would. Except it won’t— can’t— when she’s experienced the same feeling. She’s lost so many of her loved ones.
“That’s none of your business. Out.”
“No. Answer the question.”
“This isn’t an interrogation.” Standing up, he gestures to the door. “I’m done. Go.”
Kerse is relentless in the way she grabs his wrist and yanks him back down. Not expecting it, he plops back down beside her. She stares up at him with a determination that has him shrinking away from her.
“I’m not leaving. We can sit in silence or you can talk. But I’m staying right here until you pick one.”
Zye’s beginning to realize just why Kerse and Callua would be such good friends. They’re so damn stubborn. He lets out an angry huff and glances away. Slowly, the words form on his tongue. They’re foreign to say and he hates that it takes so long to push them out.
“Terrified… I think dying alone and broken is less scary now. I…I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to either of them. I don’t even see her that much. I’m worried it’ll be the last time because this isn’t any safer than living. I think it might be worse? But I’m stupid. She has her own life and that’s how this job works.”
“Yes. These things are bound to happen during our jobs.”
Zye groans and flops backward onto the bed, pulling away from her grip. He drags his hands up over his face. Kerse turns, drawing one ankle up to cross over the knee of the other before continuing.
“That’s why we’re supposed to work in teams. That way no one has to die again and if they do, they aren’t alone. The damage done to a soul that’s pushed back into its truest form… It takes time to heal that so they can go back into the cycle or onward or whatever.”
Silence stews between them.
Letting his hands slap down onto the bed, he glares up at the ceiling instead of at her. At least, it starts off as a glare. He doesn’t have the energy to keep it as one. If anything he wants to crawl back under the sheets and scream into a pillow.
“I’m trying.”
Kerse’s voice softens considerably as she replies, “I know. Going with the flow doesn’t get rid of the thoughts. I’m starting to see why Hax wanted to live… It’s hard not to be curious.”
“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.” Another groan slips from his lips. “I must really be in my head again if you’re trying to help.”
Kerse slaps her hand against the side of his knee. “Shut up. I know that was a tease.”
“Thanks for doing it.”
The pressure on the bed vanishes as she stands up. He lulls his head to the side to watch her stride over to the door.
“I don’t want you to end up like I did— any of us, I guess. Which means your ass needs to get dressed. Meet me downstairs. If I have to come back up here I’m dragging you off looking just like that.”
“Would hate to trouble you like that.”
Kerse shakes her head and grumbles a curse under her breath. The door she leaves wide open so that he can watch her turn and make for the exit. Even when it audibly shuts, he lies there for a moment.
She’s not wrong.
Dying doesn’t seem as scary now. It’s still horrifying, yes. The only difference is that it was always looming over his shoulder. Now it’s leaning in and whispering the cold truth that this limbo of a realm has no promises.
There’s no guaranteed safety. Callua coming so close to dying has him realizing this must have been what Jace felt while trying to get him safe and healed.
It was foolish to think that joining either side would grant him peace of mind from the absolute inevitability. Even more foolish to think that the faith he held onto would be exactly what he got upon dying. It’s nothing like he thought it’d be.
This is a chance. Yet at the same time, it’s so far from what anyone ever tried to preach. Fighting the negativity of a soul is the opposite of what he thought he’d be doing. And the fear of death should be gone.
Shoving himself up, he glances over at the closet. He should get ready. Dwelling on the thoughts will only poison the good ones that are trying to reach the surface. He has so much to be grateful for.
Remembering that and enjoying it are simply the hardest to do some days. This is why pushing himself to walk forward might just help him break into a run into better things soon.
All he can do is hope this all works out.
ns 18.68.5.85da2
