I come back when John and Leona are still having their breakfast.
A quick wave and I grab the clothes I separated last night and head to the bathroom, I feel the sweat and grime on my skin, a slightly acrid smell spreading at each movement I make. No one deserved to be assaulted by that, even less so this early in the morning.
My body is still sore from the exercises, the run of the morning was longer than the usual and hadn't really helped, at least not in that way. As warm water hits my back and shoulders I appreciate the feeling as that achiness fades, even if just a little. It washes my worries away, and even if I know it's just for the moment I'm in the shower, I take it.
Because the instant I'm out of the shower I feel a tension coming back to my body.
Hypnosis was a thing right in the first book, something Roland did so that a young Jake could remember about how he had 'left' his home world. Only to make the kid forget when he asked because the answer was a less than pleasant one.
"Ja… John." Calling the man John was already an exercise in itself. A 'sir' would still slip out from time to time, even though he told me there wasn't really a reason for it. "I need your help with something." They were both watching the news with different levels of a scowl, a protest of some kind gone awry.
He changes the channel, seeming oddly relieved to do so. I grab my phone out of my pocket and show him the picture. "I… I don't remember her."
Even though his daughter looks confused, he doesn't question me. Just a look, that's all it takes. One look and he just understands and nods. "I'll be right back. You should eat something first." He gets off the table and heads to his room.
"What's wrong?" Leona asks.
I feel my chest rising as I take a breath in and open my mouth. "It's a long…" I close my mouth and swallow, a lump in my throat. "I, I'm not sure myself."
John comes back and pulls a chair in front of me. He opens his hand, showing what he went out of the room for. It's unnecessary to show me but I know why he does it. It's a gesture to draw my attention, a signal that it's about to start.
He picks up the bullet with thumb and index, it's new, what I think is a brass casing still gleaming. It cartwheels flawlessly between his fingers as it advances across his knuckles. The fingers themselves move dexterously, minimal twitches that pass the bullet forward. It moves to between ring finger and pinky and starts circling back, the movement is smooth, oddly alluring as it picks up speed and restarts its cycle.
When I blink I realize it's slow, the effects of staying up all night catching up to me. I had actually developed the habit of doing that same thing, but with a pen, though when I did it it was slow and clumsy, my fingers moving too much and thus avoiding the perfected motion.
My eyelids feel heavy, I'm relaxed and the chair feels so comfortable that I barely feel it. Definitely tired.
I close my eyes, just for a second.
"Do you remember her?"
I do, we were in the same classroom since the day I changed schools. She's loud, talks too much and is too hyper at times. Somehow we grew close. But there's this one time -last year? - that jumps at me.
I remember the feel of her face buried in the crook of my neck when she hugs me. The small, ticklish feeling when she breathes, the warmth of her breath. I look around, the classroom is empty, so I allow myself this, and I rest my head on top of hers.
I remember seeing the smug faces of my friends from the corner of my eye when they come back into the classroom, just for a moment, when I don't leave.
"You could've at least told me it was your birthday, y'know?" She rests her chin on my chest as she says that, big, green eyes looking up at me and smiling. God, those dimples could kill a man.
I remember my heart, pounding in my chest. The room suddenly growing too hot.
I also remember being too… not uncomfortable, but confused. The hug had gone for too long, I had squeezed and loosened my hold on her twice before she lets go, each time lasting just a little more than the other.
She backs away just a little, still smiling, and walks off. I take a second, because I have to, to pull myself together. I breathe in, and the smell of her shampoo still lingers in the air, and out.
I take one step -
- and it's as if the floor cracks and my foot sinks, and I fall forward into nothingness. I feel the burning deep within, shifting and moving. At times focusing on one place and sometimes spreading and hitting all of my body. At the same time that it feels like my skin is cracking and something will burst out of it, it feels like it'll collapse onto itself at my slight movement. I scream, at least I try -
-I'm laying on a bed, my throat hurts, my voice is barely there, it's more of a dry gurgle than an actual voice. The pain spreads, and I scream, and-
"It's okay."
It's okay. It's okay. I'm okay.
I'm awake.
I sit up on the bed and I look around.
It's a simple room, big, almost everything here - there?- is made out of wood. Rustic. A table in the middle of the room, a sofa by the foot of the bed. The only thing that seems out of place in here is a blue bag that sits on the corner of the room. My bag.
A man sits by the bed, reading a thick book. He looks up when I move, dark eyes wide as if waiting for something. Something that doesn't seem to come and he smiles, relieved. Unruly hair brushed back, he's covered in a cloak though the hood is down. He looks young, but at the same time not. Like someone that had seen too much too fast.
I try to speak, but my voice is hoarse, and I can't find the words. Nothing comes to mind. My heartbeat picks up, and I feel the drum in my ears. My chest rises and falls. And the burning comes back as if eating me from the inside.
He gets up and approaches me, and at the same time I understand what he says, I don't. I understand the words but the meaning behind them is lost.
He reaches out to me but I swat his hand away, he tries it again and I repeat it.
I push myself against a wood wall that feels oddly warm. He tries to grab my arm again, and when I try to swat it away for the third time he grabs my wrist. I swing my arm, panicked, using my whole body as leverage, and I fall face first onto the bed.
I thrash around and roll out of bed, and when I hit the ground my arm goes numb.
His grip holds strong throughout all this. He puts a hand on my chest even as I try to struggle.
It feels odd as if something snapped into place. And suddenly there's understanding, I feel my - his - heart beating at a slower pace than mine, how his breathing is more controlled.
I breathe in, my lungs taking in as much air as it could. There's the same odd warmth to the floor as there is to the wall.
He takes off his hand from my chest, the burning receding, his hands slowly moving up and down and exaggerates his breathing motioning for me to do the same. I breathe in, and then out. And -
Pain. As if I'm crumbling onto myself.
- I wake up?
I open my eyes. I'm sitting down cross legged and with my hands resting on my lap. I feel the hairs on my neck and arm standing up as if attracted to something when I breathe in. I feel cold entering my lungs despite the warm breeze. Warmth pools itself around my heart.
It feels nice.
A sweet aroma of flowers and grass as I enjoy the warmth of the sun. There are hardly any trees around, though fields of green grass expand as far as I could see. The house - it's more of a cabin, really - stands tall at the foot of a small mountain. There's the distinctive sound of rustling grass as someone walks through it, I turn around, hair falling down my face.
"Don't stop on my account," The man says. "You learned that faster than I thought." He pauses. "I'm not really sure why I keep talking to you, though." He laughs, but it's without any humor behind it.
"Ah," It takes me a moment to realize what's weird. He looks at me, eyes widening in surprise. "I… understand-
Pain.
"-you guide it to your left hand. Do you feel the flow of it?" He speaks about it with an odd mixture of childish glee and passion. "Starting from your heart. Warmth. Spreading through every cell of your body, flowing, like blood. I think you'll get bet-"
-The sky is dark and I'm running. I'm carrying a bag, clinging to it, as if my life depended on it, despite its weight. I -
I wake up.
My head hurt as if I had a bad caffeine withdrawal. With the exception of a light that seeped through a cracked open door, the room was dark, and even that makes me flinch and shut my eyes as I feel knives digging into my brain. I had sweat through the shirt, and it clings to my body, cold and uncomfortable.
Early afternoon, maybe?
My body feels sore and heavy, the burning in my chest more than just a memory. It still hurt, even though it didn't come close to what I felt before. I slept for at least six hours, but I'm still tired, I try moving around, shifting on the bed, just to stop when the stabbing pain comes.
So I just lay there, thinking.
Those memories were… weird.
It was a lot like watching a movie, but I felt and smelled things besides just seeing and hearing them. At the same time, I'm glad because I remember her now, though I'm not sure it's everything, I feel bad, my head still hurts when I try thinking about the other two. But, there's progress. Progress on something I didn't even realize was wrong, but I'm glad I found out before going back home.
But that guy...
He is the same guy from that 'dream' I had just before I left the shelter. He spoke English and the way he was dressed probably meant he wasn't from my world. At least I don't… I rub my face and grunt into my hands even as my head hurt. I remember not understanding what he said, even though he spoke English. I remember the panic. And what was that thing he did after? Two hearts, and two sets of lungs.
And that field. It felt more 'here' than 'there', the bright green grass, almost emerald in color, gleaming under the sun that shone in a sky of the deepest blue I saw. Clear, without any clouds. The breathing itself was more than just breathing, I focused on something. My heart?
I breathe in, and there's an odd sensation as I draw in more than just air, warming myself, though it was nothing like the memory.
A knock on the door breaks my concentration.
John comes in, he opens the door slowly and I feel the light bathing the room even through my eyelids. "Did you wake up?" His voice is nice and low, both in tone as in volume.
I nod, and my head hates me for it. "Wh- What time is it?" My voice comes out rough, hoarse. My throat feels dry and I try to clear it, but it doesn't seem to help. "What happened?"
"You remember her now, right?" I nod, slowly, barely a movement of the head. "It started with that, but then you just... fell off the chair. You didn't get out of the trance but... you were trying to dig into your own skin, scratching everything. But your Aura didn't let you." He pauses for a moment. "You were also grunting, almost… roaring."
"There's something else we need to talk about." He is kind enough to lift a chair instead of dragging it to sit down. "After you fell, something else happened. The air was thick. Hard to breathe. Luci started barking and came close to you. And that seemed to help, you calmed down." He sighs. "Something happened to you, and I don't know what."
The vague feeling of warmth is still there, down in my chest. I feel it, as I will it to flow down my arm, and it heats up my insides. A thin line, starting from my heart, gradually it goes down the shoulder like a thick syrup and I feel my elbow tensing up as it goes past the joint.
"I remembered something else," I say and clear my throat again, still focusing on controlling whatever this is. My hand is in a fist and I take it from under the covers, the warmth is pooling there, right in the center of my palm. I feel the thin hairs on my arm pulled towards it as if attracted to something.
I open my fist, and there's a glow. Faint and flickering, the simple movement of opening my hand makes the light it emit dull.
"I learned something." And this wasn't Aura.