Nightshift 43: Cafeteria

[ran_on_empty]

[From here.]In Sync's eyes there was no such thing as falling 'gracefully', especially when it was face first onto the floor after a rather sloppy escape. The teen had fallen several feet from the door, having used a burst of strength to at least pull himself as far away from the last room as possible

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[sanguinario]

Though Edward was surprised to see their newest acquaintance follow after them, for the moment he had no complaint (though it helped that he wasn't thinking of potentially causing them harm). Normally, the addition of one more human by his side wouldn't make much of a difference, but the pulsing pain in his side reminded him that things had changed. Drastically.

Yet it was still strange to feel ill-at-ease because of a message on the building's intercom, strange and fragmented as it was. Aside from his burns, the room seemed to grow frigid, the skin of his neck crawling. Human responses to fear were blossoming in a body that hadn't felt it in nearly a century. Everything but the heartbeat.

The wide breadth of darkness in the cafeteria made it seem easy to imagine further hallucinations... but, as he looked harder, these weren't the same as before. Not walls and pipes, but shadows, all human-shaped, light wisps of hair and trailing gowns and hushed echoes of laughter.

Then, the voices. But not just one set - many.

"Don't worry," a soft, female voice reassured him. At first, Edward imagined it was the woman the unnamed man had pointed out, but when she spoke it was clear the words had not come from her. "The pain will pass, and you'll be well again."

It's... familiar?

"Is the shell happy to see you?" A masculine voice this time, with edged words and a deep timbre. With surprise, he realized only the darker man was hearing these words - and worse yet, he had not heard the first female voice.

Or maybe he just hadn't paid it any mind -

"Save him!" the female voice demanded recognition, screaming in his ears louder than the tortured memories from the other man. "You must do everything in your power," she continued, the voice strong, but falling weak after every word. What others cannot do, that is what you must do for my Edward."

It can't -

One transparent-rimmed shadow detached itself from the rest, forming the ethereal image of a woman; red-haired and green-eyed, she solemnly took silent steps beside him, her colorless skirts trailing behind her boots. Nestled on top of her swirled bun of hair was a broad-rimmed hat, a faded red with rat holes running its edges ragged.

Mother?

The thought dispelled the image, but the voice continued on - not in words, but the choked breathing of inflamed lungs and wet coughs.

God, he was seeing - hearing - his mother, a woman who he hadn't even initially recognized. A woman he hadn't seen in ninety-one years, who had been dead so long she probably was little more than dust, if that. She was so a part of a different world, so completely detached from his new "life" -

"He's still screaming inside of me..."

When he clapped his hands over his ears, it was with trembling fingers. It did nothing to stop the man's memories from snaking into his head, along with his veiled concern.

It was horrible to experience his own relived pain, but to feel another's as well -

The pain left him cold, physically fatigued like he could not remember feeling. The echoes of the thoughts in-between the static had his mind reeling, his brain thudding against his skull, putting pressure on his temples. Between all the different sources of pain, he barely noticed that the warmth from his arm and leg had extended, moving into his shoulders and chest. The wall was alarmingly cool as he followed the man's whispered order, feeling as slick and frigid as ice.

[poolcuemurder]

Whatever was happening, it was obvious he wasn't the only one suffering from it. He didn't want to admit he was afraid, being afraid was being weak and for people who didn't face death every single day, having to face the knowledge of his death every waking moment, but from the look on their faces... They heard it too. Maybe not what he was hearing, but they heard something to set them on edge.

He couldn't stand this place. It wasn't going to beat him, but he couldn't stand being here. If they wanted to test his patience, he was sorry he didn't have any medals to award them for making it run short.

The intercom kept on, those screams louder than ever, but the assault of memories had stopped for now. All that was left was the bitter taste in his mouth and a pounding headache.

He shook his head, trying to regain his resolve as he led the way to the kitchen, occasionally nudging the men along if needed be. They couldn't stay here for long, but each step forward felt more and more detached than the last, taking more effort to move than should be physically possible. By the time he opened the door to let them through, he just felt so tired...

[ This way]