4

"My God. What time is it?" A grumble.

'I've done nothing but sleep for three days.'

She felt her limbs, heavy like fresh laid bricks, the bamboo chilly as her arm brushed the bed railing, and it was morning, late morning. The sun already growing high in the sky as it filtered through the windows exactly the same way it had all these years, the position more to the left of the pane in the bedroom meant it was about eleven.

'So sluggish.'

"I never want t'fly again." Heather rubbed an eye with her palm, it was a terrible struggle to do just that. The wrist trembled as the fingers on the right hand finally hit the socket, then worked to smooth away a little bit of tension between her eyebrows, letting her hand fall to her lap, a deadweight.

"Hn?" Gawk, chin downward.

The symbology on it was clear now, they had to be symbols, had to be. She blinked a few times, glaring, focusing. It was browner, less red, edges not feathered but straight, and some other outlier marks were beginning to show around the main shapes, all congruent and deliberate, like the new formed swirls were aware themselves of the main markings?

Unlike a disease that just breaks out wherever it pleased to.

A sign of intellect?

Heather's eyes shot open and she flung the covers off, she stood so quick a head rush. Grabbing the back of the floral print chair by the bed to steady, she felt her head fuzz. The few freckles on her face, her complexion, turned pale for a second, then color resumed.

'What was that?!'

For a second, did she? Was she going to pass out?

She didn't and that was a positive, but it was the fact that the feeling came over her, even though it left just as quick!

Snatching her own right wrist and hauling it up to her face for a intense exam, her nose widened, breathing increased, the corner of her mouth momentarily tight.

"How could this be?!"

Alerted and on edge, the woman slowly managed to get across the room to peel her clothing off. Her breathing was unbearably harsh and she wheezed. The outfit she'd laid out the night before became so quickly, so hard to button. She put on instead a plain black V-neck tee and a pair of sweats, zipping up a hoodie, skipping lipstick for chapstick.

Droning to the left, down the hall to flicker on a bathroom light, the familiar white and green leafed wallpaper she used to pretend was a jungle didn't cause her much ease.

'I look like shit.' Maybe David was right. She pulled down her eyelids inspecting, no signs of wetness or puffiness, no weighted stress making her eyes feel like they were bulging out of her head. No pressure.

Tired, loss of breath, almost passing out the only symptoms.

No signs of blood sugar dropping. No shakes.

But tension. As she's brought her fingers to her face in bed, her arm wobbled like it was having a hard time using it's muscle.

Musculature shaking. Surely not Muscular Dystrophy. It's didn't run in her family.

"Who am I kidding?" The Scot doc said to call him if anything changed. She could only address the symptoms, she wasn't able to administer her own medicine, nor do tests that required machinery. Should couldn't give herself a cat scan or a biopsy, it had to be done by another. That was something she knew she couldn't do, draw blood/fluids. She wasn't great at it, and she always figured she'd leave that up to the nurses. She'd have a whole team of them working with her on the floors at London Children's.

Riffling around in the her carry on bag, she fished for that paper. Where'd she put it? She'd swore that she put it in there!

Why was it that even as a doctor she was so clumsy with things at times? She knew she wasn't perfect, but still.

Heather was getting aggravated.

"Where the hell is it?" She kept zipping and unzipping pockets, hands gliding unsteadily, fingers rummaging over different textures of items, hoping to slide across the yellow notepad paper's serrated edge.

She couldn't seem to place it. She didn't want to empty her entire bag, but she will later, after she ate. Her stomach gave a loud bark.

That's another thing she'd been doing a lot of lately too. Eating.

She added that to her mental check list.

A growl. She was a slave to it.

Walking out the front door of the guest house, the thing she did find was her smokes. Key to lock.

Then a sudden thought hit her, her arm muscle contracting with a weak waver to put a hand to her chest.

There it was. 'Good'.

Grandma's necklace, under her hoodie, safe and sound.

That was a sigh of relief. She lit up the cigarette with the tiny crown and shield logo close to the filter. She needed this right now. It was the only thing helping her 'keep it together'. Letting the symbols be touched by the light of the late morning as that hand rested on the wooden railing of the wrap-around porch, all bamboo as well, she just let the cigarette sit in her mouth, hanging from her lips, pursed between her upper and lower, to the right where it always sat.

Chicago was cold and windy almost all year because it sat on a lake. It was a habit of most people out on the town to learn to smoke a cigarette by not using hands. She stuffed her hands along her sides, elbows down, looking like she was giving herself a hug. With the chill of the morning still there, and the fog just a little as well, she could see the main house sitting off the left of the road up the hill through the haze, it was the size of a tiny monopoly piece.

She left her pack of cigarettes and lighter on the outside on the long seat of the swinging bench, it's chain hanging from the ceiling holding it up. She sucked in a long suck, held it in and then shot it out of her nose. As all cold Chicago'ers.

These ones at least didn't have the harsh chemicals in them. She was trying to play it safe with her choices, even with her bad habits.

Heather made her way out onto the path, all pebbles and dirt. It wasn't sloppy, but she'd slammed on some rain boots before hand just in case it was a mess.

Along the path, moreless dragging herself. Her legs walking unbarely jiggly, she decided to just slow it up. It'd take nearly thirty minutes to get up that damn hill!

'At this pace!'

It should only take about fifteen.

She plucked a few little white flowers, the ones from her childhood and put it behind her left ear, the flowers more like weeds, one stick of them containing multiple little fluffy buds. It was about time they stopped blooming, because the flowers her father planted were actually doing quite well, chrysanthemums, maroon and orange in color.

Three days ago

Gilgamesh lounged on a large jutted flatrock inside the Grail. Whether the 'rock' was actually real or not was a question he'd always found himself asking. It could very well not be real, as it all was an invisible force, a matrix of magic that was once held by a singular object. He sneered. Not an uglier rock covered in sludge could be found than this one, but from up there, he had quite a view of the cut off body parts lazily drifting in the river of black liquid, which could also not be real.

But when it came time to be manifested, the Grail itself brought all of these into physical being, out from it's interior, magma poured and fires started; the Grail, even still as the Lesser, had the power to bring omnipresent items into a realistic world.

Such power.

The mages who created the device were quite skilled. It was sleepy afternoons (what he perceived to be afternoons, as there was no time reference inside the dirty, disgusting tool) that he pondered about such things, even when the scenery never changed, he made sure to keep his mind busy with thought as to not go utterly insane.

For he knew something was to happen soon. He was just awaiting it. The Grail emitted loud groaning whines, much like the oozing, viscous groans of a volcano getting ready to bust, and upon the dramatic change in character, Gilgamesh chose a good location to sit and watch the show that was about to start.

It had been awhile since he'd had some good theater.

"The choosing." He yawned.

The War in it's initial magics were being started. He watched symbols form in the water, and swirling eddies in it emitting smoky hazes of steam that seemed to 'stick' together in shapes.

Gilgamesh blinked. Observing. He was curious how the functions exactly worked. All mythical symbols, pre-picked and loaded from different tribes and cultures around the world, and it played some sort of game with itself as it matched pairs of three up to where they would align top to bottom symmetrically. Black smoke symbols whizzed all around him like large dragonflies, buzzing with energy, electric almost.

'Ah. Making the command seals.' He batted a few away from his face that were pestering him.

It was still dark, but clouds, like spirits, formed black silhouettes of faces. He began to watch as the Grail formed the eyes, noses and mouths of people, each face different from the next, from all different eccentricities and ethnic backgrounds he realized as well. It scanned through them one by one, like how a crystal ball would show a person's characteristics.

None he knew. Some older, some younger. Seas and seas of mages.

"Hm." He rested his chin on his wrist.

Sometimes it would morph a face back that it had previously been on, then switch again. He knew it was selected by the way that the cloud fizzled, it would shake almost silly. Childlike.

After seven were chosen, Gilgamesh began to close his eyes. But he realized, the hazy show hadn't ended.

An eighth was chosen. Then 9, to 12. Still going.

"My. You're choosing quite a bit of them this time aren't you?" He said, perplexed, raising. It gurgled at him.

Gilgamesh's mouth fell flat. He didn't understand. 'Were they backups if the first string masters failed?'

Did it chose that this soon? This early on? Couldn't any mage without symbols make a new pact with a still existing hero if their master was done, if they used all their seals and lost the hero?

Surely the same rules as far as that applied.

It chose 21 in all.

Three for each class of Heroic Spirits, he divided mathematically.

No. It was starting with 21 mages. It was absolute. He watched the symbols all fly to the different faces and spin, then fade.

'What's your plan?' He lowered his eyes.

No matter, this pleased him. Maybe the Grail never quite healed correctly, and Saber's wound somehow skewed it's magic. That he figured, probably was true.

Gilgamesh did notice distinction between some of them. The first round looked very skilled. The second round not as much. The third seems like ordinary people, like those that lacked purpose and direction that he wanted to put to an end.

It pleased him because it allowed for more of an option between masters. Who knows? All the middle to lower skilled Mages could get to summoning a Servant faster than the upper ranked ones. That'd make it a little more interesting than normal.

A bloodbath.

It'd make it a bloodbath.

He smiled. And he'd be watching from inside.

The sages chosen all would still have to find the artifacts. Draw the summoning circles, which all had very specific symbols that needed to be labored.

He wondered how many museum break-ins would take place on Earth in the next 48 hours?

Menacing, he laughed at his thought. 'How stupid! These wicked little creatures! The supposed strong and weak all battling for a position!'

"It'll mean nothing once I kill you all."

Heather tapped on the back porch door with a few knuckles, the same one she'd walked quietly all the way through the house and out of last night. She was completely out of breath.

She pushed her hair back behind an ear, hand off the wall, cigarette butt and flower long tossed along the path.

Familiar clicking.

The door opened.

"Heather!" Her dad instantly grabbed her and squeezed her in, she grunted with an 'OOF.'

His squeeze was strong, and that meant his health was good. She smiled.

But something was weird. He was almost 'too' laughy.

"Come in!"

She tugged down at her hoodie sleeve as he turned and walked back inside with a few thumps from his cane. She'd bring up the issue she had in quiet with her dad after breakfast. If grandpa was alert today, she didn't want him to hear, she didn't want him to be concerned, not at his age, not with him sick. Her stomach was screaming.

"'Bout time! It's almost one!"

Her mouth fell open. "ONE?!"

"Yeh. Did you sleep in or what?"

Heather's mind was scrambled. 'No way. It took me 2 hours to get up that hill? What was I doing? Crawling?'

No she wasn't.

She was walking slow albeit, but walking nevertheless. She cautiously slid around the high table watching her step, not a Japanese low, like at the guest house, and pulled out a chair for herself. She had to call that doctor!

Grandpa was pulled up to the table, his wheelchair shiny and his head was slumped a little to the right.

She swallowed, leaning in close and gave him a peck on the cheek. She whispered. "Grandpa. It's me."

Her dad turned to watch what she was doing with a saddened look on his face.

Grandpa smiled a distant smile, but not present smile as he stared into the television, his eyes never leaving it.

Heather wasn't satisfied, but still kissed his cheek lovingly again, trying hard to hold back her hurt expression. She just wished he was 'there' today, just for a little.

A roller-coaster. Nothing but an emotional ride since she'd left Chicago. Things were changing.

And with that dream last night, the recurring dream she'd had since she was little, it just added flame to her mind. But it never changed. It was always the same, and that was what maddened her about it. Nothing was ever different. Blackness, same trees, same muck. Unlike her present conscious life, which was being slowly filled with mystery.

The symbols on her hand, she had to find out what they were.

Boots.

She looked up. Eyes shot open wide, light swirling in them fast as her head suddenly turned.

Mouth fell.

Kei Casey stood there full length along the threshold to the kitchen from open upstairs she walked through last night. No wonder her dad was acting a little 'too conscientious'.

She knew her dad, and her and her dad were very easy-going. But something about his hug was tighter than normal, tense almost. This was why.

"Go ahead. Have a seat. Lunch is almost ready." Her dad turned from stirring something with a spoon. "Now that Heather's here, we can eat. She didn't make it to breakfast."

Kei looked at her dad and narrowed his eyes at him, and her dad just turned back.

Heather had breath caught in her chest as the man yanked out a chair and sat in it rather roughly. She looked only at him peripherally remaining quiet then looking away, with nothing to fidgit with, she was stuck unmoving with her hands in her lap. Her legs felt like the wanted to tap, but she didn't, feet didn't move, nor arms.

She was no longer thirty in that moment, but a patient ten year old physicked out of her wits, waiting for lunch.

She cleared her throat, she didn't know what to talk about. She didn't have coffee. Why was it that he made her so nervous? "So uh... I accepted that position in London."

"You already told me that." Ebisu answered.

She shut her mouth. 'Damn, he's right.' She searched, watching grandpa cough, but still staring off into the tele. His hunched figure sparked a bulb. "You know that necklace that grandma gave me?"

"Oh yeh!" He seemed giddy, it was fake. He was probably just as nervous as she was, and she knew it.

Kei shifted his eyes to her, like a stone statue only moving a peice of itself, the one peice that on a normal human, they say you could see into someone's soul with.

Her cheeks fire. Red hot. 'Why is he?' She tried so desperately to poke words through it, an attempt to calm her stage fright of the man.

"I brought it.. back with me. Along with my other stuff."

Kei's eyes never moved. He looked up and down the side's of her face.

Heather's mind raced. It was like he was checking her expression to see if she was lying, that was how intent of a scan.

"Uh." She jibbed out. "I figured maybe I'd..."

"What?" Dad put a bowl in front of her full of chicken noodle soup and buttered bread.

She jerked suddenly, coughing from the surprise. It scared the shit out of her, the feelings she was going through so intense she hadn't even realized her own father was that close.

"Oh sorry there!" His face was silly and his words awkward.

She settled as he sat another three, one for Kei next, then himself, then Pops. A family full of men and she was the only woman, ever since grandma passed. Never was she much of a girl as it was anyway. She didn't mind. She always took life by the bootstraps, and pursued a career intensely, and her mentality she knew would never pair with a cosmo-queen with perfectly manicured nails and a hot car.

"I'd take it to get it appraised."

"No." Kei flatly said. His response instant.

She looked at him. He put a spoon of soup in his mouth. She said nothing, now she was staring.

Her dad, pulled a chair and nervously bit. "If she wants Kei... it's hers." He stuck up for her.

Kei eyed him and took another bite, looking away.

She looked away too. She's gotten an eye-full. Kei had dark eyes, half Japanese, he sat tall at the table like he had pride. He'd gotten quite a few more gray hairs, and had grown some stubble. The man still seemed similar to before. Same general style. Dark boots. Black jean jacket. A simply gray shirt underneath, a long sleeved tee. Bags under his eyes. Lack of sleep? Or too much there of?

She reached for the glass of milk and took a full sip setting it down carefully, her muscles aching. She tried to play it off. She'd speak with dad later.

'Just let me make it through this meal.'

She wanted to run out of there as quickly as she could. As long as he was still here. If she could even run at all. What was he even doing here?

'Dad had said two weeks? Right?'

She took a sip of soup, her mouth chewing a noodle. Somehow she had the slight urge to just stick the whole bowl up to her face and consume it like a poor street urchin. What were these problems she was beginning to have?

They sat in silence and ate. Her dad fed grandpa, who chewed so slowly, and dabbed up after his leaks.

When she was done: "Can I have another bowl?"

"Still hungry?" Her dad said in that tone that still sounded a bit too high-pitched. He'd calmed some too that she could tell.

"I didn't get breakfast. Sorry about that."

He picked up her bowl and took it to the pot refilling it. Her mind. All it could hear was the sounds of the soup being ladled into the bowl. She had another urge to ask her dad if he could make sure to put a little more chicken in there this time, but she bit her tongue on it. But she had trouble.

She wanted it.

As soon as he sat it back down in front of her she picked the spoon back up and began eating, a bit more slowly as it was her second bowl, but devouring it all the same.

"If you want the breakfast still it's in the fridge. It's waffles. They might be okay to warm up later."

She stopped her spoon mid-air and her body did something strange.

The thought of waffles brought on a whole new realm of taste. The word gracing her ear she could actually taste the honey butter and molasses her dad caked on them, and without thinking she blurted leaving her face a messy red.

She, her own voice in her head: 'Waffles.'

"Can I have one now?"

Her dad just laughed. Then realized, 'Oh she's serious.'

He opened the fridge.

It wasn't until the snap of the sealed microwave door that she 'eep'ed', realizing that she'd not expected herself to just spit out thought into word so quickly. Shutting herself off, hoping to hit some reset button, she jammed a spoonful of chicken in her mouth.

Kei just finished one bowl of soup himself.

Heather was almost done with her second.

She'd eaten so fast! Like an adolescent boy.

Her dad was still chuckling as he sat the waffle down. It was a bit soggier than it should of been, had she got it in the morning it would of been crispier, and not re-heated.

Just the same.

She didn't care.

Kei was poured another bowl of soup. He was eating still also.

He cleared his throat as if ready to speak, her chew slowed a bit.

Nothing.

She resumed.

Plates being washed.

Munching.

Napkin.

The reporter talking about some parliamentary rights.

Pops watched, coughed.

A cough from Ebisu too.

Scrubbing.

Kei stretched a hand out and tugged down on his jacket.

She scratched her face lazily on her shoulder, face fully implanted into the quickly disappearing treat. She always used to think that the little holes filled with molasses reminded her of pools filled with liquid gold.

The visitor to the left placed a hand over right, relaxing.

Bowl was taken.

"When'd you get that?" Ebisu randomly spoke.

"Hm?" Heather asked from the last of the waffle, she slid the rest of the forked delight around in a lake of molasses on her plate.

No response back. She waited for explanation as to what.

Nothing.

She half turned her head mid-munch. A hair strand fell. Her right eye looking at Ebisu.

Who was not looking at her.

She turned back around curious.

Kei uncomfortably shifted.

Heather noticed. 'Weird.' That man was never that, he was never uncomfortable. He always seemed to have a commanding presence.

Peripheral glance.

She'd finished the food because thank God or she would of choked!

Her flashed glance shot away just as quick.

'WHAT?!' Mind instantly shooting to the mess on the back of her right hand.

Kei had been hiding something.

She caught the edge of it. Darkish. Her thumb on her right scrambled around inside her sleeve unnoticed as she attempted to conceal it better, her whole right hand was practically covered all the way down to her mid-fingers as it was, and the whole reason she'd chose that hoodie was because she knew it was over-sized. That comment made her mind race though back to herself and she couldn't help but get inside her own head.

"Seriously? Why a hand tattoo Kei?"

Kei grumbled and looked at Heather, then looked at Pops whom he realized wasn't 'hearing' except TV.

No response. Her dad sighed. Washing out a dirty bowl.

She was trying to calm it. 'I don't know him.' She breathed steady, pretending to watch the tube with her grandpa, leaning in a bit more closer to his wheel chair purposefully. 'I don't know his tastes. If he wants to tattoo himself...' She went on.

A sudden snort of exhaled air surprised her. "Where's the necklace?"

Everything in the room blurred under stark fear.

Did he?

Heather like a stone grinding on a wheel, slowly, rockily, dredged her head left, because... She knew the question was addressed to her.

Ice blue orbs met black.

She croaked out. "I'm wearing it."

Her dad shot a glance; a deadly one Kei's way. She seen enough to make out a flat-lipped line across the jaw. Displeased. She knew that face.

"Well." Her father loudly banged down a large jug on the counter full of liquid. It made a giant slosh sound inside it's container. "Who wants cider?"

"No!" Heather stood up, nearly tripping it was so sudden. Her chair squeaked across the hardwood.

Faint, she caught herself with left hand on table edge.

There it was again.

That come and go pass out feeling.

She closed her eyes, then opened them anxiously, glaring at Kei, glaring at dad.

Then she turned on her heel, she'd had enough feeling like a child!

"Heather!" Her dad exclaimed. She stopped. Why? She didn't know. Respect probably.

It was a sickeningly adolescent attempt, she knew, but she was ready to go. 'Dad just let me.' She mentally crossed swords with him.

"You can't leave." He gave off a bad laugh, the false one. "You just got up here to the house."

"I'm not leaving. I'm..." She searched. "I'm just gunna go lay on the couch." Bland.

There was no way that she was going to be in this room any longer with the man. His voice was too much and his stares were icicles. She was no child, because every time she was around him she always found herself fumbling and reverting back to a kid-like mentality, and that bothered her.

For the first time, in a long time, she told a half lie. And she wasn't happy about it.

"Jet-lag."

She slowly walked out of the kitchen as normal as possible, and once out of view, she quickly allowed herself to start breathing hard again and wincing in the most absolute, horrible muscle spasms.

Heather got to the couch and sat, slumping over on her side, making sure the hand was fully covered and the hoodie zipped all the way up to her neck. She pulled the blanket over her from the back of the couch, a plush one that you can find at any store these days.

'I can't tell dad anything with Kei being here!' Kei had no business knowing her medical profile. She wanted to confide in the person she could rely on the most: her father.

Sure, Kei and him had bad blood, but Kei was not 'her family' he was not 'her friend'. He wasn't even around! Ever!

What right did he have asking her a question about the necklace that her grandma rightfully gave to her?

'Last week you wouldn't of said that.' Her own thought in her head spoke to her. Madly, she forced a thought back. 'Right. I wouldn't have!'

She was seething with anger, but felt that familiar hazing of muscles getting numb in her thighs to fall asleep. Since when was she so protective over it? She'd done nothing but throw it into the bottom of a drawer before!

'Damn it! Something's not right.'

She began to realize her pulse was slowing.

Why did she suddenly care? She'd been so afraid to wear it, and now that she is, did that make a difference?

'It'll always protect me.' Pops.

Top lid and bottom lid tapped.

No noise from the kitchen.

She heard birds outside. Cute little chirps.

'Ah?' One flitted around, landing on railing outside. Through the window she seen. It was the prettiest little bird. A finch.

Should be going to roost.

Winter's almost here.

'It's mine.' She breathed. Eyes closing. 'It's always been...'

A body silent.

'mine.'

Asleep.

When she woke it was later, much later. Already dark.

"Hey sleepy." Her dad was in her face, sitting on the coffee table aside her relaxed form on the couch.

"Hn?" She mumbled, she felt the blanket stir around.

"It's eight. That plane ride must of killed you hm?" He sat down on the edge of the couch now, and she managed to scoot just a bit to make a space for him to sit by her side.

"Mm." She didn't respond because what almost popped out of her mouth was against what'd she'd said in the kitchen earlier. She'd lied, white-lied, and she felt bad about it. Her dad never lied to her about things, he was always upfront with her. If it just wasn't for Kei, she wouldn't of had to, but she felt like somehow she needed to protect herself from his ever-lingering glare on her.

Ebisu took that as a 'yes' response and continued on. "You should get on down to the house." He put a hand up to her forehead like a mother. "You feeling okay?"

"Yeh." Another lie. It just popped out. 'NO!' Her mind screamed. Her eyes shot open at her own ill-intent. 'What the hell?' She stirred and sat up making sure to conceal her wincing. Something was wrong. Hadn't her plan been to call that doctor? She did a quick calculation on her head. The office wasn't open right now, but she could call it and leave voicemail, then wait to hear from the Scot tomorrow.

Would that be less worrisome to her father than outright telling him? Would it be better if she got a different opinion before she told him? Was Kei still here? She wouldn't take the chance.

God she was tired. So tired.

"Okay."

"It's eight. I already put grandpa in bed."

She nodded. "Sorry. I'm just tired."

He squeezed her up in a hug. "I'm just glad you're home."

She squeezed back the best she could, holding back a scream. It hurt so bad to use her muscles for anything. Behind his head her face scrunched in absolute pain until he released.

Ebisu stood and began walking in the other room, only to stop and turn at the kitchen door, a soft expression with high-cheek bones smiled and winked to her before going down the hall to the spare bedroom there. "I know you're overexerted, just rest for now. Don't worry about it. Go sleep. We can talk tomorrow. You know I love you."

"You know I love you too." She smirked in the darkness as the light shut out. She was damn near determined to just fall asleep right there, but what lifted her at this point was her own power of will. To find that number, she didn't even bring her phone up to the main house. It was not smart of her.

She'd been just so hungry. Again her stomach was grumbly as it was.

With her dad. She never understood. He said 'I love you.', but the man also said sometimes, 'You know I love you.' Like he just wanted her to ponder over it somehow like saying a simple 'I love you.' wasn't enough.

She clamored down that hill, falling multiple times. The first time, she fell flat into the middle of the road, and by the time she picked herself up, she'd made a good big dirt spot all down her right side, she swore it was like she was drunk. The dirt was down her hoodie, sweats.

Beginning to see double, and having tunnel vision, she just tired so hard to make it down.

Step by step.

Solar light by solar light.

25 to get down the hill, like counting them would help her along, find her way like a lost sheep.

Finally she slammed up against the door to the guest house, keys crunching mercilessly into a lock, and rather than stepping through the threshold, she collapsed right in the doorway onto the bamboo floor. And it hurt. The fall wasn't something where she'd caught herself mid-way on the way down with a hand, as most people did. It was a slam, like a dead body.

Arms out. Body half in, half out. She felt asleep but knew she wasn't. Muscles in terror. Her legs kind of cold as the sweats had rode up and one of her boots she realized wasn't there anymore. Where'd she lose it? When she'd fallen in the road? Had she stumbled all the way back down with only one boot?

Surely she would of felt the dirt beneath her feet, the pebbles crunching between her toes. It would of been cold, dewey.

Was she losing her since of 'feeling'?

Something moved her lifeless form. All she could feel distinctly was the bamboo floor so smooth moving against her stomach, under her. Nothing else.

Was something happening?

Something tight around her wrist. Her mind jolted. 'Dragged!'

Her mind told her body to be quick and instead of kicking, it simply plunked her calve over with a painful mewl from her mouth. Other boot gone.

Distant voice.

Body hauled somewhere soft.

Crunching.

Something forced her to open her eyes. It was a blur, a rainy windshield to see through. She realized: 'yellow paper'.

She haphazardly lunged at it and she unsuccessfully grabbed it, it was pulled back.

"Give." It was the only word she could muster. Her jaw was so painful, her facial muscles throbbing in pain from hitting the floor. It was like she'd been punched.

"No."

She realized she was sitting up on the couch at the guest house. It was completely dark, slowly becoming a lifeless vegetable and there was nothing she was able to do.

"Doctor." She muttered.

"Hn. No." The voice uttered out, it was lost, but somehow something warm was holding her upright, and she'd felt her body try to dive into the couch on it's own, her head rolling around, but whatever was holding it up stopped that.

"I'm sick." She mumbled.

It responded, but a bit late this time. "No doctor. Don't contact him."

"YES!" A sudden scream out of her. She was beginning to realize, someone was there. it wasn't her thoughts. A hand over her mouth as she growled into it. She saw the paper get sat down, out of view, like an item lost in a fog.

"No." It simply said. "You will not call him."

"How do you..." She moaned out to the voice taunting her under the hand that moved away. "know I haven't..." She sucked air and realized it was incredibly hard to breath, wheezing. "already?"

"Because I checked your phone."

"Wha?" Was all she blurted. She winced hard. And began coughing and crying out as the coughs were causing her whole respiratory to ache. She felt offended. She forced herself to open her eyes, blinking rapidly. From blackness a face just enough made out. 'KEI!' A mind went frenzy, instantly scared and she felt him yank up on her hoodie sleeve. "NO!" She yelled out, in her inactive and compromising state trying desperately to conceal her marks.

"So. It's true."

"Let me alone!" She shouted.

She noticed too, there was no shirt. Her eyes were starting to roll back into her head. He had on no shirt.

"Just let me do this."

"Wh.." She mumbled. "No!" Meek, her mind scavenging the bottom of the bowl. The gutter.

She heard his voice cut in and out. She made out the words 'pain' and 'back'.

She felt a hand go up under her shirt. The hoodie unzipped. Like a piece of drunk trash she was maneuvered around with swiftness and before long she was broke out into a sweat so bad and hot that she couldn't feel anything.

"No gunna let you do it."

She heard a mumble through the fog that sounded like a 'you will'.

A whole heavy weight laid across her and she felt a cold but long object on her left arm. Big.

"Ah... doing?!" She shouted again as the hand clasped around her mouth with some force this time and she screamed so hard and it hurt so bad that it caused her to cry profusely. She couldn't breath with the man's weight on her.

She kept hearing a drone over and over again. He was talking, but so low.

Nothing was happening.

He suddenly just stopped moving. And from trying to keep her still, their bare chests, (her shirt not all the way off but hoisted), she could feel a buzz.

It was a weird, unfamiliar buzz.

That was when everything went dark, and when she closed her eyes she dreamt of nothing but glowing lines of blue running down three streams inside her mind, like a code rolling over her eyes like a river, a code so old, made of symbols impossible to read, that she couldn't understand.

Different from the dream she still had where she was running, in blackness. This was just lights. As if the sky was running scripts, printing. Like a scanner with an endless, seamless, unstopping flow of digits and lines.