"...she turns to look back, and we all see her face and we…" Cecil paused, though not entirely by choice. He felt a push at the back of his mind.
"We…." He struggled to continue speaking, he felt himself floundering in his own mind. Somewhere in his fleeting consciousness Cecil registered panic, a tightening in the vocal chords, which were normally soft and loose. His voice scraped across his throat. He could feel his pupils contract painfully, his skin rippling.
"we…." Cecil pushed against the drowning force in his mind one last time before he felt himself engulfed, and knew that whatever words he was about to say were not his own. "The woman from Italy, oh! Merciful Goddess! Her victims are legion, but tonight they're not us! We grab grateful breaths from the night shaded air. Bated breaths. Fearful breaths. But breathe deep-nothing there. The Woman from Italy is gone, but not for always. She waits behind doors and at the end of dark hallways. She follows no logic, exists only for spite, but you are safe for now, dear Listener. So Goodnight, Night Vale, Goodnight!"
Time passed, but he knew not how much.
All at once, Cecil snapped back to himself, though he was uncertain if he had ever really left. Perhaps he had just been hidden in a coat closet, like so many embarrassing family members often are when unexpected visitors arrive. Now that his unwanted guest had departed, he was liberated to himself once more, bleary, and disoriented.
The first thing Cecil noticed was that his clairvoyant eye was open wide, leaving the world focused and vibrant. Painfully so. Second was pain. His muscles ached, as they are wont to be after one resists a strong, but temporary, possession. He was breathing hard. Cecil had to get home. His body disagreed. When he tried to lift himself from his seat, his muscles screamed rather loudly in protest, his vision momentarily blackened, and instead he found himself crumpled on the floor against his desk. A wave of unwelcome exhaustion crashed over him, and found himself without the energy or the motivation to pick himself up. He sighed, and let his now heavy eyelids fall closed.
-line-
"-cil… ceec, wake up….. CECIL!" The radio host found himself roused by a smooth, caramel voice, paired with a sudden, stinging pain in his left cheek. At being struck, he jolted into awareness, his eyes open wide in shock. The world was unfocused, his glasses having abandoned him in his haphazard fall. But even without them, he could see his Carlos, inches from his face. He smiled.
"Oh thank heavens, you're awake! Cecil I was getting worried, I've been trying to wake you!" Carlos's voice shook with relief and, suddenly weak with joy, threw his arms around his boyfriend. Cecil started, unable to have prepared himself for the additional weight because of his impaired vision, but relished the embrace. As the Scientist released him, the radio host fumbled for his glasses. He felt a wire frame, and his hand closed gratefully around it and placed them on his ears to rest on the bridge of his angular nose.
Clarity. He saw the furrow of Carlos's brow, the tension in his features, the slight muss of his perfect hair. "I heard the broadcast, like I always do, and when your voice changed, I was so scared! At the end of the broadcast I could hear you fighting, we all could. What was that? And are you ok?" Carlos continued on speaking, his concern tumbling out of his lips. Cecil sat back, letting his boyfriend's voice wash over his ears as he fought off another wave of exhaustion.
Cecil began to push himself to his feet, gripping his Scientist's forearms to steady himself. He sounded out of breath as he spoke. "That, dear Carlos, was a possession. I think it was, anyway. I can't quite remember what happened." His eyes darted to the floor in embarrassment. He hated when these things happened, especially on air. The last time had been years ago.
He quickly continued after a concerned look from the other, "But, really, I should be fine. Just- lets go home, ok? I'd prefer we construct a bloodstone circle to purge me of the nonindigenous evil spirits, but seeing as bloodstones and bloodstone circles are now illegal, I may have to settle for a nap and something to eat." Cecil looked up sheepishly at the man he had thought was shorter than him, but his weakened knees and hunched shoulders put the scientist above him.
Carlos smiled simply, seeming, finally, to relax. "I think we can manage that." His smile and relief poured into his oaky voice, and Cecil was sure he would have heard that smile even if he were lost in the sand wastes. He felt the soft press of a kiss to his forehead before his Scientist lead him out of the radio station and into the desert night.