Another nightmare
He lies on a long wooden table, calm and motionless, and yet he is also floating above, watching himself. It is a dream; there is no sense of strangeness in this. His body is sliced open, with surgical cleanness and no pain, no mess. Simon Drew is there, in scrubs and mask like a doctor, pointing out parts to the watching attendents. He cannot see their faces; it doesn't matter.
"Duodenum," says Simon calmly. "Rather small. Mesentaric aorta."
He realizes, gradually, that it does matter. He isn't the one on that table after all. It's Moiraine, and her eyes are wide and wild, her mouth sewn shut and her throat silver-collared. Simon's hands are bloody now, and they always were.
"Transverse mesocolon. Sigmoid colon."
Will cannot shout, cannot move, cannot help. He is only watching, bodiless, invisible.
"What is it?" asks James brightly, beside him. Will stares at him, and then realizes that he does not see it. The horror that is plain to Will is only a bar table to James, or perhaps something else entirely.
He looks back and it isn't Moiraine after all, it's his mother. "Help me, Will," she sobs, though he does not know how she can speak with her mouth sewn shut and her lungs open to the air. "Will, please, come and help me. I need you. Will, help me, please."
He cannot move, cannot speak. James still sees nothing. He has stuck his hands in his pockets, and is gazing idly into a corner, at a rosebush. Its black blossoms drip crimson blood; to James, Will knows, it looks red and normal. "Kidney," says Simon's voice calmly. "Gall bladder."
Mrs Stanton's voice is weakening now, fading. "Will," she whispers. Somewhere in the distance, Mary laughs, high and childlike, witlessly happy.
Over his mother's body, Merriman smiles at him, small and approving. "Be of good cheer, my watchman," he says.
"Duodenum," says Simon calmly. "Rather small. Mesentaric aorta."
He realizes, gradually, that it does matter. He isn't the one on that table after all. It's Moiraine, and her eyes are wide and wild, her mouth sewn shut and her throat silver-collared. Simon's hands are bloody now, and they always were.
"Transverse mesocolon. Sigmoid colon."
Will cannot shout, cannot move, cannot help. He is only watching, bodiless, invisible.
"What is it?" asks James brightly, beside him. Will stares at him, and then realizes that he does not see it. The horror that is plain to Will is only a bar table to James, or perhaps something else entirely.
He looks back and it isn't Moiraine after all, it's his mother. "Help me, Will," she sobs, though he does not know how she can speak with her mouth sewn shut and her lungs open to the air. "Will, please, come and help me. I need you. Will, help me, please."
He cannot move, cannot speak. James still sees nothing. He has stuck his hands in his pockets, and is gazing idly into a corner, at a rosebush. Its black blossoms drip crimson blood; to James, Will knows, it looks red and normal. "Kidney," says Simon's voice calmly. "Gall bladder."
Mrs Stanton's voice is weakening now, fading. "Will," she whispers. Somewhere in the distance, Mary laughs, high and childlike, witlessly happy.
Over his mother's body, Merriman smiles at him, small and approving. "Be of good cheer, my watchman," he says.