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He shot up, his hands clammy, as his side screamed at the sudden movement. A dream...a dream. Nothing more. His Christine was there still, next to him, utterly oblivious to the malicious presence lingering over her head only moments before.
Perhaps a glass of cold water would calm his throbbing temples. Yes, clear cold water would be divine.
He tried to stand without waking her up, for she was sitting close to the bed, too close for his comfort. Leaning against the wall, he managed to control his steps and keep the close to the furniture, where the floorboards underneath him would not creek.
He reached the hallway and for the first time in almost 24 hours, the room came spinning down to him. Unable to resist the tempest, he leaned forward, slowly crutching to the floor,until his vision was stable. Alas, the moment never came, for after the spinning, a curtain fell in front of him, burying him in total darkness.
He needed to stand. In all his injuries, never before had he experienced such symptoms. The ugly worm of panic had crept inside his brain, where it was now nested. He kept moving, like he had done in the past. Neve stop. Stopping is dangerous, he reminded himself, strenching his arms in front of him, n order to avoid any collisions.
"I can't see." He exhaled audibly in the void around him. He was powerless. Never before had he felt so defensless. Weak. He knew what happened to the weak. He'd never be one again. So he kicked onward.
Before he could register what was happening,a sharp pain pierced through his right thigh and was followed by a nauseatingly loud crash. Too much stimuli. He could not tell what was happening and felt like a deer at gunpoint.
"Allah, is he crazy? What time is it..." he made out a muffled whisper in his darkness.
Darkness had always been comfort, safety. Now it felt lke the descent to hell.
"Do not speak ill of the dead, daroga. I can hear you," he snarled, desperate for some sort of affirmation, of control.
Was this still a dream? It felt real. But then again, so had the previous one.
"Erik? What happened?" His hearing was still sharp and he could tell feet were dragging on his carpet.
"Nothing. Nothing..." He chose not to say anythng of his momentary...impairement. "Nadir...could you bring me some water?"
Surprising silence.
"Wa- ah...yes. Yes, of course. Are you any better?" The footsteps became distant again and he remained frozen, afraid of knocking anything else down.
"Yes. I only needed sleep. It would seem."
"That's very good to hear. Here," the voice was again, probably stretching a glass of bliss in front of him. Once again, he chose not to move, without having an actual course of action in his mind.
"Erik? Are you certain you are quite alright?" The persian insisted.
"Yes, yes. My eyes are too tired to see in this darkness." He stretched his hand in front of him weakly and a cool weight was placed in it. He carefully clasped it and brought it to his lips.
"The lamp is burning, Erik. There is light. Do you not see?"
No! No, no, no...What the hell is going on?
He stretched to glass back towards its source, feeling the coll liquig calming both his pain and his panic.
"Of course I do, you moron. Why would I not?" Why can I not!? "My eyes are hurting, that's all. I'm going to bed."
How do I go to bed with him watching? Ah, well, here goes nothing.
He slowly set one foot in front of the other, his blindness making him feel he was walking on a tightrope. Which he could do. With his eyes working.
"Do you need any help?" Nadir pressed.
"I'm fine!" He bit and kept on walking, hoping there was no wall in front of him. Thank god he had no nose to break.
Finally, after what felt like eons of excruciating pain and terror, he could hear her soft breathing and knew he was close. He had never found himself quite in such a darkness before. Even at night, locked in a covered cage, or underground, his cat-like vision allowed him to make out his surroundings with enough accuracy, needed to move easily.
His legs bumped onto the bed and he turned around, attempting to sit as softly as possible. Once he was back under the covers, he checked her undisturbed slumber and focused on the pressing matter.
Why can't I see? What do I do? Fuck, my side's burning again...
The thin voice in his head continued its nagging in a crescendo, until fear was all he could think about.
Stop it! Shut up! How do I fix this?
He paused, trying to desperately gather his thoughts and make some sense of it all.
He had been the Shah's assassin. He had been injured severly countless times and helped treated others' wounds on occasion. Diagnosis?
Come on, Erik! Think.
He breathed and clenched his hands, forcing his brain to start working.
Blindness. Must mean pressure-brain damage? Not impossible. I have an infected gaping hole at my side.
It had all started to click together.
Sepsis. Great.
Less than twelve hours.
Goddamn it! Now that I mentioned it, I bet you're enjoying this, right? Your experiment gone wrong. Sadist.
He laughed and felt tears well up in his useless eyes.
I need to sleep. Isn't that the best way to go? In my sleep, like an old man, who's lived a long, easy life. Ha!
"Erik?" The sound of his name jerked him out of his reverie. She was still asleep.
My love...ah, Christine, sleep easy, your days of torment are almost over. Christine...How I loved you you'll never know.
