"The repose of the night does not belong to us. It is not the possession of our being. Sleep opens within us an inn for phantoms. In the morning we must sweep out the shadows." ~Gaston Bachelard
~~oOOo~~
Occasionally, Tom Ryan wondered whether some vague bit of prescience was responsible for the bout of insomnia that preceded the day of his death. Keyed up and jittery, he'd spent a couple hours in the gym after his shift ended. By the time he'd showered and changed into fresh clothing, he'd been considerably more relaxed. Walking down the long spiral of the ARC's main operational hub, he spotted James Lester leaning against the rail and looking out pensively over Connor's anomaly detector.
"You're here late, sir," Ryan said quietly as he approached the other man.
Lester grimaced.
"Another round of ministry paperwork requiring justification of the glazier's services to repair all those broken windows at the golf course."
Ryan nodded tersely. He could certainly sympathize with the mind numbing monotony of governmental bureaucratic paperwork.
"And why are you here so late, captain?"
Ryan shrugged, feeling the gesture loosen the knots in his shoulders that he'd been unable to release earlier in the day.
"Couldn't wind down when I got off shift. Figured I'd make use of the training facilities before I headed home."
Looking beyond the civilian clothing and slightly damp hair, Lester scrutinized the other man more closely. Captain Ryan had always been extraordinarily competent and contained. He'd had no cause for concern previously, but that didn't preclude the possibility that he'd missed something vital. And in their line of work, anything that detracted from a man's focus could prove deadly.
Seeing no outward signs that should raise cause for concern, Lester settled a stern but bland look on his features as he turned back to look out across his domain.
"Well if you're done getting the coffee jitters out of your system, captain, I recommend you go get some sleep. No way of knowing what tomorrow might throw at us. And I can't afford to have you at anything less than top performance."
"Aye, sir," Ryan saluted crisply and without further words, he continued his way down the walkway's spiraling path.
~~oOOo~~
As he looked back on that moment now, Ryan still couldn't be sure; had he somehow known the reaper would be coming for him the following day, or had his sleepless state caused him to make a critical error in the field leading to his own demise. Stephen always chided him for such introspection, but Ryan was a firm believer in the benefit of self-reflection as a means to improve one's self.
"It's almost time."
Stephen's voice brought him back out of his reveries. Ryan looked down at his watch then up at the anomaly shivering before them. Crouching down, he gathered up the dead weight of the black clad body at his feet.
Time to play the reaper once more.
Following Stephen through the anomaly, Ryan found himself standing in a featureless corridor looking down at an unconscious body that was a mirror image of the one he carried.
"Hurry up, we haven't much time," Stephen urged.
Ryan arranged the dead body to mimic the pose of the one beside it before lifting the unconscious man from his place. Without a word, he stepped back through the anomaly then laid his burden down on the grass. A quick shot of adrenaline and judicious use of a defibrillator pushed the man's faltering heartbeat back into normal sinus rhythm. Sighing, Ryan sat back on his heels and waited.
A few moments later, Stephen reappeared through the anomaly and the shivering mirror-like shards of light winked out of existence.
"Is he going to be alright?"
"Yeah," Ryan replied sourly. "Should wake up hurting like hell in a bit, but he'll survive. You manage to cover our tracks?"
Stephen nodded.
"Easily done. Took the temporary loop out of their CCTV system and checked the computers. It looks like that virus we planted covered the anomaly well enough."
"So all we have to do now, is wait."
~~oOOo~~
Jess Parker ran through the surveillance footage for the hundredth time, trying to spot a ghost. Eyes red and puffy, she muttered to herself as she worked, running the footage backwards and forwards again and again.
From the doorway of his office, James Lester watched with silent concern.
"Should we do something, you think?" Connor asked quietly beside him.
"No," Lester replied with heart heavy weariness. "Leave her be for now. Eventually she'll accept that she couldn't have prevented Captain Becker's death."
