Both De-Mo and Aimi heard the muffled thud from above their heads. Aimi looked sleepily up, her white hair spilling over her soft pillow like a waterfall. The sound that had woken her seemed to be a one-off, and now the silence was broken only by the rhythmic tick of the ancient wooden clock on her bedroom wall. It was dark in her bedroom, and none of the acid yellow of the outside lights penetrated the night through her curtains. Yet she could just make out the shape of an angular little boy kneeling ominously on the foot of her bed.
'De-Mo!' she hissed, conscientiously pulling her duvet up to her chin as she sat up, even though she wore a t-shirt many sizes too big for her that his her body, feeling heat emanate off her face and praying that her flat mate would not see it. But he was not smiling.
'Aimi! Did you hear that noise?' Aimi nodded puzzled.
'Yeah?'
'We should go and see what happened up there,' the boy replied decidedly.
'Aww, De-Mo, I'm sure Bright just dropped a chair or something… He might be inventing or something, in which case it could be his machine making that noise…' she smiled despite herself at the thought of Bright's inventions.
'No, I don't think so. I have this feeling that something's wrong up there. We should at least go and check it out.' A wave of embarrassment hit the girl, and she sat upright in her bed, forgetting about her unnecessary modesty and letting the blanket fall to reveal her wrinkled white shirt.
'De-Mo, I'm sure there's nothing wrong, and anyway, if we appeared at Bright's door at-' she paused and glanced at the gloomy clock on the wall, '- two-fifteen in the morning, don't you think he'd be a bit suspicious? And we'd make fools of ourselves.'
A second thump gently shook the hanging light-shade on her bedroom ceiling.
'Aimi!' frowned De-Mo commandingly. Aimi felt her resistance melting, the habitual obedience slipping into gear, 'I'm going to have a look, whether you come or not!' His partner hung her head.
'Oh, all right then, but just wait until I put some proper clothes on.' She paused, waiting for him to leave. He remained motionless. 'De-Mo,' she warned, crossing her arms across her chest. Sometimes he was such a pervert, really.
When she had finally persuaded him that there was nothing to see, she quickly slipped out of bed and went over to the nearest trousers available, a pair of faded black denim shorts that she had washed once in the wrong temperature and that had never been the same again afterwards. Swiftly she plaited her soft hair, letting her rebellious fringe and front hair to flick out as they invariably did. Then she opened her bedroom door and padded out into the hallway.
It was cold outside of her flat, and the shadows seemed to press in suffocating from every corner. The doors they passed, although in daylight clean and white, seemed clinical and like leering teeth in the gaping mouth of the wall. Silent, waiting windows reflected the little light in the hallway as they passed them towards the stair case, mirroring their reflection of a beautifully pale girl and her unearthly companion.
As they moved quietly onto the stone steps, Aimi wished that she had thought to put her warm, white slippers on as the concrete beneath her bare feet was shockingly sharp, and sent shivers running up and down her spine. She placed her hand on the stair rail and began to climb, De-Mo trudging determinedly alongside her. He occasionally glanced up at her and seemed about to say something, but again and again closed his mouth and remained silent.
At the next floor they stepped from the freezing stairs and walked once again onto soft red carpet, shrouded by darkness and moonlight, and a welcome change from the icy stone beforehand. Aimi peered into the dark corridor ahead of them, barely making out the neat brass numbers on the doors. Bright's room was number four-oh-six, her room three-oh-six. But it was not the number that drew her attention to Bright's front door.
Even as she looked, she saw the wood of number four-oh-six shudder and bend slightly, a blunted knock verifying that it was a heavy object being thrown against it that made it move. She exchanged quick glances with her companion, before quickening her pace towards the still, white door.
Aimi stood outside the door, gathering her courage to open it, her heart beating faster despite her continuous mental reassurances that she was over reacting and would find Bright inside moving furniture or inventing calmly, and would have to make up some unlikely excuse for being so worried in the first place. She could picture his face now, laughing and lovely, his eyes full of confusion at her anxiety on his behalf and his perfect mouth held in a half-smile of flawlessness.
And then the door opened, and she indeed did find herself looking into a face.
Before she could even register the strange visage before her, she saw a black blur beside her being propelled into the apartment, and recognised the astonished figure as her friend De-Mo. She tried to reach out to him, but before her brain had even received the chemical messages she felt an iron grip close around her arm and jerk her into the front hall, the door, despite being slammed, closing with hardly a sound.
Noises came from the kitchen, not of thuds but of scraping and slight, quick movements, but stopped as soon as the sounds from the hall reached their ears. A cold hand slid over Aimi's eyes and face, slipping down to her mouth where it clamped across her lips and cheeks like it was glued there. As she tried to move her head, the hand effortlessly held her head straight, and the grip on her left upper arm tightened, sending spasms of pain down to her tingling fingertips. She could hardly see anything, despite the lights all being on in the room. Bright was nowhere to be seen.
She could hear stifled words from both behind her and from the kitchen, and she immediately attributed to noise behind her to De-Mo, but the noises ahead of her she was not so sure about. There was another thump, much louder now as she was within ten metres of the source, then an acute scrape of wood on tiles, and then silence. Her heart leapt to her throat, and a shadow appeared in the lit kitchen entrance.
'What have we here?' came the voice, seeming to spread and enlarge as it left the figure's mouth. It was a crisp, pointed tone, and seemed strangely familiar somehow, as if she had heard it a thousand times before, yet never so clearly. She wracked her panicking brain for any memory of where the feeling came from, but found nothing. Then the voice came again, closer now, but he seemed to have disappeared.
'Oh, this is a coincidence,' it crooned from behind her, obviously speaking directly to De-Mo. 'If it isn't our treacherous little devil from back Home! So kind of you to turn yourself in…' Muffled yells from her left shoulder told her all of De-Mo's reaction. But her head spun. More of De-Mo's kind? How could that possibly be?
Suddenly she understood the gravity of the danger that Bright, De-Mo and herself were in.
Her heart skipped a beat as the sharp voice started again, this time from right beside her ear, almost actually speaking into it. 'And you brought her too! My, my, my… we'll have to get a few years knocked off your sentence for this service, De-Mo,' There was a pause, and an icy sensation brushed past her, momentarily numbing the stabbing ache in her upper arm where the unforgiving fingers still clutched tightly. 'Bring him in,' the voice called out to the kitchen doorway, and the light fragmented as a figure moved and obscured the light. Then it appeared, forcing another person out in front of them. Aimi's heart froze fully this time, and she stared in horror at the scene unfolding before her eyes.
A huge towering man had emerged from the kitchen, wearing an equally large overcoat that hid the rest of his clothes or form. A large hat covered his face also, revealing only the bottommost part of it. Before him he propelled another man who struggled angrily, but was powerless against the captor that held him. One gigantic arm had wrapped itself around his captive's neck, whilst the second was curled like a huge wrought iron shackle around the man's waist, leaving him no room for movement and hardly any for breathing. The captive looked up at the crowd before him, and as his eyes met Aimi's they widened in shock, before being clouded with complete fury and confusion. Aimi saw that there was blood on his forehead, and wondered what else they had done to Bright.
'What do you want with them?' he shouted angrily, his voice tight because of the unrelenting grip on his neck. 'Let them go at least!'
The voice wavered from her left, neutral in tone as it answered. 'They have a much bigger part to play in this than you know, and if you had agreed in the first place you wouldn't have to ask that question.' Aimi wondered what Bright had refused before their arrival, shuddering at the thought of it. She looked helplessly at Bright, and listened to the sound of struggling behind her from De-Mo, feeling a wave of anger rise up in her. She saw red.
With a huge intake of breath, she clamped her teeth on the hand covering her mouth, tasting flavourless flesh and sweet blood as she did so and cringing because of it. The hand whipped away with an accompanying curse, and she had a split second of fresh air in which she cried
'Let him go, please!' Then the hand snaked back, slapping her roughly in the face and once more closing over her mouth, the grasp on her arm doubling in potency. Daggers spiralled down her limb and cheek, and Aimi felt sure that her arm was about to snap. She shuddered as her vision dimmed, feeling her legs buckling beneath her and herself beginning to fall. She heard a far away cry from Bright, but was too far off to understand and respond. But then the voice came again.
'Easy there, you're hurting her. Let go, she's not going to do anything like she is now.' Immediately she felt the startling strength lessen from her arm and the liquid-covered hand removed from her face, leaving the bruise to blacken unhindered. She sank to the floor helplessly, overcome by the shock, terror and helplessness, but her vision cleared and she felt breath flooding back through her body. She gasped for air, and lay unable to move on the carpet.
'This girl cannot be spared, she has a starring role in this drama, Bright. And her little friend is perhaps more than what he seems, or less.' There was the slightest hint of amusement in the voice, but it quickly passed. Aimi slowly forced herself up onto her feet, and felt the same cold hand tighten around her neck, only this time less harshly, only stopping her from escaping instead of hurting her. The world spun around her, and she closed her eyes and concentrated on
'De-Mo!' she hissed, conscientiously pulling her duvet up to her chin as she sat up, even though she wore a t-shirt many sizes too big for her that his her body, feeling heat emanate off her face and praying that her flat mate would not see it. But he was not smiling.
'Aimi! Did you hear that noise?' Aimi nodded puzzled.
'Yeah?'
'We should go and see what happened up there,' the boy replied decidedly.
'Aww, De-Mo, I'm sure Bright just dropped a chair or something… He might be inventing or something, in which case it could be his machine making that noise…' she smiled despite herself at the thought of Bright's inventions.
'No, I don't think so. I have this feeling that something's wrong up there. We should at least go and check it out.' A wave of embarrassment hit the girl, and she sat upright in her bed, forgetting about her unnecessary modesty and letting the blanket fall to reveal her wrinkled white shirt.
'De-Mo, I'm sure there's nothing wrong, and anyway, if we appeared at Bright's door at-' she paused and glanced at the gloomy clock on the wall, '- two-fifteen in the morning, don't you think he'd be a bit suspicious? And we'd make fools of ourselves.'
A second thump gently shook the hanging light-shade on her bedroom ceiling.
'Aimi!' frowned De-Mo commandingly. Aimi felt her resistance melting, the habitual obedience slipping into gear, 'I'm going to have a look, whether you come or not!' His partner hung her head.
'Oh, all right then, but just wait until I put some proper clothes on.' She paused, waiting for him to leave. He remained motionless. 'De-Mo,' she warned, crossing her arms across her chest. Sometimes he was such a pervert, really.
When she had finally persuaded him that there was nothing to see, she quickly slipped out of bed and went over to the nearest trousers available, a pair of faded black denim shorts that she had washed once in the wrong temperature and that had never been the same again afterwards. Swiftly she plaited her soft hair, letting her rebellious fringe and front hair to flick out as they invariably did. Then she opened her bedroom door and padded out into the hallway.
It was cold outside of her flat, and the shadows seemed to press in suffocating from every corner. The doors they passed, although in daylight clean and white, seemed clinical and like leering teeth in the gaping mouth of the wall. Silent, waiting windows reflected the little light in the hallway as they passed them towards the stair case, mirroring their reflection of a beautifully pale girl and her unearthly companion.
As they moved quietly onto the stone steps, Aimi wished that she had thought to put her warm, white slippers on as the concrete beneath her bare feet was shockingly sharp, and sent shivers running up and down her spine. She placed her hand on the stair rail and began to climb, De-Mo trudging determinedly alongside her. He occasionally glanced up at her and seemed about to say something, but again and again closed his mouth and remained silent.
At the next floor they stepped from the freezing stairs and walked once again onto soft red carpet, shrouded by darkness and moonlight, and a welcome change from the icy stone beforehand. Aimi peered into the dark corridor ahead of them, barely making out the neat brass numbers on the doors. Bright's room was number four-oh-six, her room three-oh-six. But it was not the number that drew her attention to Bright's front door.
Even as she looked, she saw the wood of number four-oh-six shudder and bend slightly, a blunted knock verifying that it was a heavy object being thrown against it that made it move. She exchanged quick glances with her companion, before quickening her pace towards the still, white door.
Aimi stood outside the door, gathering her courage to open it, her heart beating faster despite her continuous mental reassurances that she was over reacting and would find Bright inside moving furniture or inventing calmly, and would have to make up some unlikely excuse for being so worried in the first place. She could picture his face now, laughing and lovely, his eyes full of confusion at her anxiety on his behalf and his perfect mouth held in a half-smile of flawlessness.
And then the door opened, and she indeed did find herself looking into a face.
Before she could even register the strange visage before her, she saw a black blur beside her being propelled into the apartment, and recognised the astonished figure as her friend De-Mo. She tried to reach out to him, but before her brain had even received the chemical messages she felt an iron grip close around her arm and jerk her into the front hall, the door, despite being slammed, closing with hardly a sound.
Noises came from the kitchen, not of thuds but of scraping and slight, quick movements, but stopped as soon as the sounds from the hall reached their ears. A cold hand slid over Aimi's eyes and face, slipping down to her mouth where it clamped across her lips and cheeks like it was glued there. As she tried to move her head, the hand effortlessly held her head straight, and the grip on her left upper arm tightened, sending spasms of pain down to her tingling fingertips. She could hardly see anything, despite the lights all being on in the room. Bright was nowhere to be seen.
She could hear stifled words from both behind her and from the kitchen, and she immediately attributed to noise behind her to De-Mo, but the noises ahead of her she was not so sure about. There was another thump, much louder now as she was within ten metres of the source, then an acute scrape of wood on tiles, and then silence. Her heart leapt to her throat, and a shadow appeared in the lit kitchen entrance.
'What have we here?' came the voice, seeming to spread and enlarge as it left the figure's mouth. It was a crisp, pointed tone, and seemed strangely familiar somehow, as if she had heard it a thousand times before, yet never so clearly. She wracked her panicking brain for any memory of where the feeling came from, but found nothing. Then the voice came again, closer now, but he seemed to have disappeared.
'Oh, this is a coincidence,' it crooned from behind her, obviously speaking directly to De-Mo. 'If it isn't our treacherous little devil from back Home! So kind of you to turn yourself in…' Muffled yells from her left shoulder told her all of De-Mo's reaction. But her head spun. More of De-Mo's kind? How could that possibly be?
Suddenly she understood the gravity of the danger that Bright, De-Mo and herself were in.
Her heart skipped a beat as the sharp voice started again, this time from right beside her ear, almost actually speaking into it. 'And you brought her too! My, my, my… we'll have to get a few years knocked off your sentence for this service, De-Mo,' There was a pause, and an icy sensation brushed past her, momentarily numbing the stabbing ache in her upper arm where the unforgiving fingers still clutched tightly. 'Bring him in,' the voice called out to the kitchen doorway, and the light fragmented as a figure moved and obscured the light. Then it appeared, forcing another person out in front of them. Aimi's heart froze fully this time, and she stared in horror at the scene unfolding before her eyes.
A huge towering man had emerged from the kitchen, wearing an equally large overcoat that hid the rest of his clothes or form. A large hat covered his face also, revealing only the bottommost part of it. Before him he propelled another man who struggled angrily, but was powerless against the captor that held him. One gigantic arm had wrapped itself around his captive's neck, whilst the second was curled like a huge wrought iron shackle around the man's waist, leaving him no room for movement and hardly any for breathing. The captive looked up at the crowd before him, and as his eyes met Aimi's they widened in shock, before being clouded with complete fury and confusion. Aimi saw that there was blood on his forehead, and wondered what else they had done to Bright.
'What do you want with them?' he shouted angrily, his voice tight because of the unrelenting grip on his neck. 'Let them go at least!'
The voice wavered from her left, neutral in tone as it answered. 'They have a much bigger part to play in this than you know, and if you had agreed in the first place you wouldn't have to ask that question.' Aimi wondered what Bright had refused before their arrival, shuddering at the thought of it. She looked helplessly at Bright, and listened to the sound of struggling behind her from De-Mo, feeling a wave of anger rise up in her. She saw red.
With a huge intake of breath, she clamped her teeth on the hand covering her mouth, tasting flavourless flesh and sweet blood as she did so and cringing because of it. The hand whipped away with an accompanying curse, and she had a split second of fresh air in which she cried
'Let him go, please!' Then the hand snaked back, slapping her roughly in the face and once more closing over her mouth, the grasp on her arm doubling in potency. Daggers spiralled down her limb and cheek, and Aimi felt sure that her arm was about to snap. She shuddered as her vision dimmed, feeling her legs buckling beneath her and herself beginning to fall. She heard a far away cry from Bright, but was too far off to understand and respond. But then the voice came again.
'Easy there, you're hurting her. Let go, she's not going to do anything like she is now.' Immediately she felt the startling strength lessen from her arm and the liquid-covered hand removed from her face, leaving the bruise to blacken unhindered. She sank to the floor helplessly, overcome by the shock, terror and helplessness, but her vision cleared and she felt breath flooding back through her body. She gasped for air, and lay unable to move on the carpet.
'This girl cannot be spared, she has a starring role in this drama, Bright. And her little friend is perhaps more than what he seems, or less.' There was the slightest hint of amusement in the voice, but it quickly passed. Aimi slowly forced herself up onto her feet, and felt the same cold hand tighten around her neck, only this time less harshly, only stopping her from escaping instead of hurting her. The world spun around her, and she closed her eyes and concentrated on