"A deep space within your mind…" Benedict mused, standing beside the window.
"In a sense…it's like meditating but instead of listening to your breathing, you're listening to," Dwight paused, thinking back to his research, "a god."
Benedict looked back from the window, hands behind his back. The warm tinted lamps in the room gave him a soft contour against the night's darkness. "And what did this god whisper?"
"Nothing English, or even human I'd imagine" Dwight kept his eyes cast downwards, half-lidded from lack of sleep. His leg bounced with presumably anxiety well his chin rested on his knuckles. Thankfully he hasn't heard anything akin to the whispering well he's been free from it's grasp, occasionally he'd hear humming that would remind him of a distant huntress only to realize it had been something else entirely.
"Do you have any theories as to why it would whisper to you?" Benedict asked leaving his view and returning to his desk. Documents had been spread about, but no new notes had been taken. Instead, his eyes seemed trained on him, a suspicion or worry behind them.
"I'm…not quite certain," He closed his eyes, intertwined hands moved to the bridge of his nose, "I feel it may have been…to unnerve us? I know the others heard it… to constantly keep us on edge but I don't see why it would do that."
"Why not?"
"I don't know, it just… I believe it would need more of a motivation than just unnerving. Meg said she had been…learning it. That by focusing on it she believed she could get something out of it. That thought worried us, but…I don't think she was wrong."
He shook his head, removing his hands from his face and letting them drop between his legs. He looked up at Benedict, his eyes circled with exhaustion. For a moment he saw Meg, with a blink he saw Claudette. Her pink shirt dirtied with mud and grass stains, her shoulder began staining with a deep red liquid he knew too well. Other locations started growing their own pools of blood, slowly spreading.
"I…" Dwight dropped his head again, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands. He hadn't even noticed the tears laying on his bottom lids.
"Dwight?" Claudette asked, voice soft with concern.
"I'm sorry…"
"Why are you sorry?" It was Benedict's voice again. He looked up to face him, sitting in the same position Claudette and Meg had been, leaning against the desk with his arms across the papers.
"I just…nevermind,"
Dwight could feel his eyes on him, questioning him. The memories of the episode in the back of his mind. The regret pulled at his heart and Benedict's voice did nothing to alleviate it.
"You feel guilty about what's happened, don't you?"
Dwight meekly nodded his head. His mouth lay agape for a moment well he debated explaining his recent issues. Seeing both his fellow comrades, hearing them tell him exactly what he's been wrestling with. He should let it out, get help for it… but what if they weren't just… with a shake of his head he spoke.
"Yeah… It's the same old woe."
Silence.
"Dwight, are you experiencing anything new? How are your episodes?"
Dwight twitched.
"Nothing."
More silence.
He wasn't sure… what he was experiencing. The pit in his stomach that was previously despair, now it felt as though agitation were growing. Why? Benedict was only trying to help, he shouldn't be angry with him of all people. He should be angry at the Entity, furious even, no that was still too soft of a word.
But that wasn't it either.
