falseblack
in
damned
Nightshift 49: M91-M100 Hallway
The return trip had proved inconsequential, no significance beyond increasing rainfall and silence between brothers. If he missed a crucial detail, Nigredo would not have known--the sharpness in his arm had occupied all thoughts, bringing wayward attention to the background. He spent the bus ride leaning his forehead against the window pane, consciousness slipping in and out of sleep.
A nurse who had observed the child's behavior noted the probable cause and took him aside when they reached the front entrance of the institute. Before escorting him back to his room, she administered a dose of painkillers. "Vicodin," she had explained. The lowest available dosage. It still managed to be potent enough to hinder awareness, and before she could properly take him back to his room, Nigredo had drifted away.
Unlike the cold and clammy sleep on the bus, this was warm. Constant. For once, the child who rarely dreamed did so in vivid imagery, events he had once set aside now returning in full vengeance. He dreamed of the time in the Conflict, shortly after he had given up on his search for the eldest to return to their rendezvous point. The decision had been a mistake, Nigredo recalled. The consequences had been nearly fatal. But for all the blood spilled and bones broken, he could only concentrate on a violent glee in his brother's actions, magenta and U-DO and hatred mixed in the expressions.
And he couldn't recall what he might have done to earn such a thing.
He blinked awake as if returning from ordinary rest, and carefully tumbled out of bed. Sounds of rain and thunder rang in the distance as Nigredo situated himself, the dull haze of medicine rendering the task difficult. He was surprised to find no trace of his previous clothes; the nurse, it seemed, had replaced him back in the uniform while he had slept. She even provided a sweatshirt to account for the temperature. For convenience, Nigredo surmised.
A soft sound alerted him to an entity in the room, and his eyes found a dark form on the other side, indicating the presence of a sleeping roommate. Impulse had him reaching in his bed for the handgun (it was only right, after all), but the recall of a brother's face left the weapon unused. Instead, he quietly wrapped the holster around his waist and exited to the hallway.
[To here.]
A nurse who had observed the child's behavior noted the probable cause and took him aside when they reached the front entrance of the institute. Before escorting him back to his room, she administered a dose of painkillers. "Vicodin," she had explained. The lowest available dosage. It still managed to be potent enough to hinder awareness, and before she could properly take him back to his room, Nigredo had drifted away.
Unlike the cold and clammy sleep on the bus, this was warm. Constant. For once, the child who rarely dreamed did so in vivid imagery, events he had once set aside now returning in full vengeance. He dreamed of the time in the Conflict, shortly after he had given up on his search for the eldest to return to their rendezvous point. The decision had been a mistake, Nigredo recalled. The consequences had been nearly fatal. But for all the blood spilled and bones broken, he could only concentrate on a violent glee in his brother's actions, magenta and U-DO and hatred mixed in the expressions.
And he couldn't recall what he might have done to earn such a thing.
He blinked awake as if returning from ordinary rest, and carefully tumbled out of bed. Sounds of rain and thunder rang in the distance as Nigredo situated himself, the dull haze of medicine rendering the task difficult. He was surprised to find no trace of his previous clothes; the nurse, it seemed, had replaced him back in the uniform while he had slept. She even provided a sweatshirt to account for the temperature. For convenience, Nigredo surmised.
A soft sound alerted him to an entity in the room, and his eyes found a dark form on the other side, indicating the presence of a sleeping roommate. Impulse had him reaching in his bed for the handgun (it was only right, after all), but the recall of a brother's face left the weapon unused. Instead, he quietly wrapped the holster around his waist and exited to the hallway.
[To here.]