Hi, sorry I haven't updated these past two days, I've been really busy with exams (as well as going to tinysaurusRex's house).
But I won't leave this story unfinished (because I have finished already :P) so don't worry that I will suddenly stop updating. Unless I've been made physically unable to do so. Which I hope won't happen.
Warning: I don't know if it really calls for a warning, but there's a bit of an icky gory bit. It's not too bad, but I thought I ought to say in case there's someone really squeamish here.
You've been warned!
Thank you :)
Arthur 7
7:16 [dream time, exactly 48 hours after Eames arrived]
The Point Man sat at his glass table, sipping coffee whilst staring intently at his laptop. His Apple Mac was blank, as if mocking him. Safari would not load any websites with updated news on them. What was wrong with the internet on this god forsaken beach!
He noticed a silhouette, a dark figure approaching, through his window. The noise of guns cocking around him was as common as birdsong – and Arthur thought nothing of it. The Point Man's fingers tensed, hovering above the silver keyboard.
Ariadne's unmistakable red scarf fluttered slightly in the breeze. Arthur relaxed, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he sensed the guns lowering.
"Come in." He said, pleasantly, as knuckles tapped on glass. Sometime whilst he hadn't been thinking, he must have upgraded his traditional wooden cabin for a modern glass structure.
"What brings you here?" he tilted his head slightly. He always made sure to cover his tracks...although recently, he couldn't remember what steps those covered.
"I...uh...actually I was just around this area. I can only stop by for a minute" She answered vaguely in her light tone.
He frowned, a crease forming between his brows.
"How did you know I was here?"
She smiled slightly. "Eames told me."
That made Arthur grimace. That man...
He swivelled around in his chair, and stepped lithely onto his toes in a smooth movement, taking the door from the girl, and closing it softly behind her. Walking around her as she gazed out of the large window pane in front of his desk, he approached his fridge and grabbed the jug of cold water, pouring it into a glass for himself.
"Can I get you anything?"
"An iced coffee would be great...if you have any."
A 'no' was just about to roll off his tongue, as he tugged open his fridge. He never had iced coffee, yet on the fridge shelf, stood a sleek mug, filled with brown liquid. The handle of the mug was cold; it had obviously been there for a while. He stared at it.
Hang on. Why am I confused? Ariadne loves iced coffee. She would have popped around sooner or later, knowing Eames with his big mouth. I should have been surprised she hadn't arrived sooner. I put it there earlier, remember?
Shaking his head, he lifted it towards his nose, inhaling slightly to make sure it was coffee, before handing it over to and joining the Architect, who had sat down in his cream leather sofa.
Sipping his own cool water, he moistened his lips.
"It's good to see you again, albeit for such a short while. I hope you head round again," he nodded towards her, but she didn't appear to be listening as she swiftly said,
"Oh, and if Eames ever comes back ... just... he wants to talk to you." Before nervously checking her watch and giving him a small smile.
"I'm sorry Arthur I -"
"I understand. You need to go. But it was good to see you, again." He repeated. Standing, he took her half drunk coffee gently from her grasp, and set it by the sink. She sighed audibly, before standing and shuffling towards the door.
"I just wanted to check to make sure you're okay, Arthur. I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you." She stood on the step that led to the white sand, before reaching up to hug him, with her arms set softly but firmly around his neck. Slightly surprised at her response, Arthur hesitantly wrapped his own around her waist. Looking down into her chocolate brown eyes, he realised she wanted to repeat the kiss that he had given her once.
Guiltily, he moved his head away from her searching lips, lifted his chin and pressed his own against her temple. He hadn't wanted her to dwell on that kiss. Stroking a lock of hair out of her eyes, he set his face in what he hoped was a 'sorry, but I can't do this' face. She smiled back happily; obviously oblivious to the signals he was sending her. Sighing sadly he let go of her waist, and nudged her slightly off the step. Turning to close the door, he pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled loudly, not noticing the Architect's figure dissipate in the wind.
#
7:24
Running his left fingertips along a ridge in his gelled hair, he scratched at the centre of his right palm with the nails of the same hand. His knuckles writhed beneath the pale skin as he strained to remove his discomfort. Sticky sweat stuck under his nails – he imagined the slimy grimey ick and shuddered. Turning his hand over, his sweat was red. Blood. In the centre of his hand was carved a deep hollow, half an inch deep and the same width. Flexing his fingers, he quickly checked under the nails. They were stained scarlet, as if dipped in a crimson emulsion. With growing horror, he slowly ran the underside of his thumb nail under his index finger, but relaxed as he found no flesh substance. He took a deep breath, and took another look at the wound. It itched, yes, but any pain was just a dull throbbing around the skin carpeting the laceration, stopping raggedly at the cliff-like edges which fell unnaturally at ninety degrees to the fleshy wall of the inside of his hand. Looking closely, the Point Man noticed miniscule, black lumps of foreign material buried inside the tissue.
Swallowing audibly, Arthur stumbled to the bathroom, and pulled open the medicine cabinet that hovered above the sink. Although he never took medicine, lest it mess with the chemical effects of Yusuf's compounds, the clinical white cupboard was filled with capsules; tablets; lozenges; syrups and the like. Uncharacteristically hurried, Arthur raked through them all with his fingers, brushing them aside and letting them clatter to the floor. Pills and broken glass danced dangerously over the tiles, sliding to a halt through sticky brown liquid. A small battered box, obviously well used even though he never remembered opening it, hid in the back corner. He pulled it towards him with frantic fingers, fumbling with the paper flap at the top and pulling out the roll of dressing. Trembling, he dropped half of the nest of bandages. Flecks of blood already speckled the white bathroom tiles spread across the discarded white fabric, before he pressed one end of the dressing against the crater and wrapped the rest tightly around his hand. He used more than necessary, to stop any remaining blood from soaking through. Breathing heavily, he stared at his trembling hands, confused.
What...what's happening to me? First the coffee, then my hand and the medicine cabinet...
He reached into his pocket, where his faithful red die sat. Using his good hand, he tossed it in the air and let it tumble to the floor, where it skipped deftly around small puddles of red, as if trying to avoid them. Four.
The four little painted dots he had once considered his ultimate safety now stared at him mockingly.
Well, chapter 12 will be up soon! Thank you once again, and please please please review, it means the world, it really does.
