Coldness, pain, motion, but Billy couldn't see what was happening-couldn't open his eyes. Couldn't do anything. Unable to even breathe, his lungs closing in on themselves, aching deep inside of his chest. I'm drowning, he realized in his haze. This is how I'm going to die-
And pain! Shrieking pain as his body was slammed into something solid and rough, ripping the small amount of air that he had from his lungs with a flash of nausea. Unconsciously held on to whatever it was, gripping skin being torn to raw flesh-
And the force-insistent pushing, driving daggers of liquid ice into his flesh as an amazing power tried to rip him through the barrier he had met. Roaring of waves in his ears, body shuddered and groaned from the force trying to pull him down into the raging waves of onyx.
Suddenly-CRASH! A sensation of pure weightlessness as his numb body was propelled into the air by a fleshy snout. There was a fresh waft of an animal odor, damp and musky but it vanished as soon as it had appeared-and he was falling, back into oblivion.
Sputtering, gasping for sweet oxygen, head above the ocean of freezing water he cried, seeing light for a moment, and then a terrible blackness. SLAM! His body made contact with something, what he didn't know at the time but the screaming discomfort that followed threatened to steal the last ounce of life in his battered form.
He felt like a mannequin, his body at mercy to the water-not water- liquid ice dancing about him. His strings were there somewhere, being carried along the currents and he couldn't find them. He couldn't do anything as the waves toyed with him, tossing him this way and that. He had no idea where the river of darkness was dragging him…
What he did know was that he hurt everywhere at once. He felt sick, the constant throb in his head giving him the urge to vomit. And there was a terrible, bitter taste in his mouth, a sort of chemical liquid and he didn't know…didn't know…
-and he was drowning, drowning because there's nothing but chilled water in this empty darkness. There was no air, and he's dying, the ice and liquid washing through his system, his lungs, his body--numbing, killing-
-no, can't breathe-
-let me-
-let me live!-
Billy woke up with a start; eyes wide and searching. He could feel his skin, clammy and damp beneath the sticky sheets. His heart beat in his ears at a manic pace, reassuring him that he was still amongst the living, that it had been a dream and nothing more…
"Shit," He breathed, body going limp once more, muscles stiff and sore. Rays of light shone through the room, peeking between the drawn curtains signaling that it was, in fact, a new day. Billy shifted slightly, ignoring the pounding of his head and squinted at the clock mounted on the far wall.
6 AM? What's the date? I could have gladly slept for days…
No such luck for Billy. Sighing, he stood up and ran a heavy hand through his damp locks. His matted hair was dank and greasy. It was no wonder that Billy's next destination was the shower.
On his way there, he checked both the lock on the door and windows. Even with his handgun sitting on the bedside table, he didn't feel completely safe. And that was the exact way he should feel, Billy nodded inwardly. While people felt at ease, there were dangers lurking around every corner, problems and such that most would overlook, traps that they could fall into while they least expected...
Oh stop being paranoid. You're just rattled. It's not every day that someone sees zombies, giant bugs and killer insects. Not to mention evasive Mr. Trent. He's creepy in his own little way. Speaking of our little friend, he said he would contact me.
Just how will he do that exactly? He doesn't seem like the type to just come knocking at the door-but he does know what room I'm in. No, he seems like a phone call kinda guy. And just when exactly is Trent planning to ring?
Billy's gaze captures the plain looking phone sitting just inches away from his grasp, the pale plastic machine sitting on the bedside table. He half expected it to ring right then and there, but the chime never came.
Tough luck for him if I miss his call, I guess.
The soft patter of the water droplets falling from the showerhead and onto the hard linoleum was soothing to Billy as he stripped down to completely bare; he hadn't bothered to remove any items besides his shoes the night before in his excitement to finally rest, before he studied himself in the mirror.
There was a man standing there, his skin a pasty white with purple lines of exhaustion painted below his eyes.
That wasn't the only purple though; other places speckled his flesh, accompanied by yellows, greens and angry reds. A dark blotch of a bruise ran just below the elbow of his right arm, blending through the thick lines of charcoal black. It might have been part of the tattoo once, if the classy lines had been against a background.
Those dark eyes were alost the same though, with the hardened features of a man who had seen too much violence and death in his life. It was a trait that all government dogs had, and one that Billy wasn't proud to wear.
But beyond that there was something new, shone by the way the light glinted from his iris. A swimming disbelief, unsure like a lost soul, aimlessly floating around searching for something. Possibly the truth? Was there even a single truth to be discovered? Billy longed to know.
And that's why you're taking Trent up on his offer. I need to know what in the hells going on in this world, and Trent seems like the perfect person to tell me. If I give him my cooperation, he should give in return, right?
Sighing, he turned away from the scene and stepped to the shower, his naked feet slapping against the cold tile mutedly. One the curtain was pulled aside, a scorching warmed spilled down his chilled body, creating a stinging affect to every nerve.
That didn't hurt though; compared to when the clean water came in contact with the various scrapes and cuts that littered his flesh. It was enough to make Billy grit his teeth and lean back away from the stream, eventually relaxing beneath it after a while. From there on, it was heaven.
He had almost forgotten what truly clean felt like, but the memories flooded back as the dirt and grime washed away. The air was tinged with a soapy aroma, cleansing his senses. Billy almost felt like he was a new person after that, but he only wished that he was. Anyone but him...
Ring. Ring.
The phone called from beyond the shower, so sudden that his hand slapped the knobs on instinct, stopping the rain. Billy was jerked away from his trouble-nearing thoughts as he groped for a towel. A frustrated growl when his hand caught only air, the throaty sound only stopping when he felt soft cotton. With a yank it fell from the pole it had been resting on and curled around at Billy's hip, where it was knotted before he ran for the phone.
Ring. Ring-
"Trent?" Billy gasped, trying to steady his breathing and the pound of his worried heart when he was met with silence. But then, Trent was there, his musical voice spilling into Billy's awaiting ear.
"Ah, Mr. Coen! I was concerned that you wouldn't pick up. I thought that the zombies might have gotten to you." Trent paused, cueing Billy to answer. If that was a joke, Billy wasn't laughing.
"You just so happened to catch me at a bad time. I was in the shower."
"My apologies Lieutenant. I have a habit of doing such things." Whatever that meant, Billy didn't know. In stead, he waited for Trent to continue onto more serious matters. And the man did just that, or he would have, if not for a sudden rap at the door. Billy jumped.
"Mr. Coen, would you be so kind as to answering your door? I believe I just heard a knock." That low voice says, showing no signs of humor like it did previously.
"What lies beyond it may be quite useful to you." Trent continues, ever so politely. Billy's uncertain gaze locks onto the door, standing completely still and silent across the room.
He's so damn confident, so sure of everything...
...and that's exactly why your doing this! You want to know why, don't you Billy? You want to know what makes mysterious Trent tick...
Anything could be behind it for all he knew: a bomb, some shooter waiting for him to step out into the open so he could take him out-
The 9mm sat silently on the counter, its sleek exterior glinting in the light seeping through the window. When Billy grasped it, the metal felt cold and slightly sticky, and his skin damp against it. He set the phone down, leaving Trent momentarily.
Foot over foot, he slid to the door, gun at his side, muscles tense and alert. The knob on the entrance is also wet. Billy breathes out, slowly turning it, ear pressed against the door listening for the revealing whisper of cloth-
-and whips the gun out and around as it opens-
-there's nothing. No man waiting just around the corner, no sniper on the premises. Nothing but the motionless, decorative hallway with few doors speckling the walls. He breathes in relief, an invisible weight lifted from his shoulders.
Wait, there was something. Billy lowers the gun to his side, studying a small, full looking bag lying at his feet. It just sat there, still and quiet.
Isn't that what a box is suppose to do? Yeah, it's supposed to dance. Dance box, dance!
Shaking his head at his own sarcastic mind, Billy reached for the box. It was quite heavy, but he managed to carry it back into the hotel room with one hand. Settling it on the bed, he locked the door behind him and walked to it. On the way, he retrieved the phone, laying the weapon in its place.
There was a moment of silence on the other line, but Trents low voice sounded soon enough, with a question that drug a hook through Billy's mind:
"Do you really believe that I would set you up, Mr. Coen?" Trent wonders aloud to Billy.
"N-no..." He stutters, tightening the damp towel around his waist once more.
"Ah, I understand," The other man begins again. "You're just being careful, watching your step. Good boy; you may just live through this after all. Not that I doubt your talents, Billy."
What exactly does that mean?
Again he speaks, "It won't kill you to open the bag." A note of frustration creeps into Trents voice, but Billy got the impression that it was only that way because he wanted it to be. So, he obeys the mans wish. His hands take hold of either side of the bag and pull, revealing some folded, crisp shirts above a pile of pants. Clothing his size, wait-
My size? How exactly does he know that much about me?
"Trent, how do you know...?" Billy was interrupted in mid-sentence by that musical voice.
"Let's not waste our precious time with petty questions Lieutenant. The clock is ticking, and we have very important business to discuss."