Chapter Six
The young boy didn't take her hand for a moment. He studied her face with a child's paranoia, considered her for a moment, then suddenly dashed at her.
It startled her at first, but the little boy only flung his arms around her neck and buried his face against her chest. His body trembled.
"I was so scared," he whispered. When Hazel recovered from her shock, she stroked his dark head of hair gently.
"It's okay," she murmured.
"Mommy left me at the daycare," he sniffled. "And I fell asleep, and when I woke up, everyone was gone, and now I can't find mommy."
Hazel bit her lip. "We'll find her," she said softly, then instantly regretted her words. 'What if she's dead?'
"Really?"
She discovered the first traces of hope in his voice.
"I promise," Hazel murmured weakly. "But first we have to find a way across that huge chasm in the road."
"Chasm?"
"Um," she said quickly. "It's a big hole-"
"I know what a chasm is," he interrupted. "But what are you talking about?"
"Th-that hole in the road back there." She stood, and he followed her to the entrance to the flower shop. "The huge hole in the-"
Apparently, there wasn't one. Hazel froze in the doorway, gazing blandly at the full, unbroken path of road that led into the town. She bit her lip and refrained from speaking as she crossed over the full road in front of the boy.
He caught up with her quickly. "Are you from the mental hospital?"
"What?"
"Are you a patient at the mental hospital?"
'I'm working on a double major in sociology and...'
"No," she replied. "I'm not insane."
"Do you take care of the sick people there?"
'Summer counseling.'
"Yes. No. I don't know."
"I've seen you there before."
Hazel looked at him sharply. "Seen me where?"
"At the hospital for the crazy people."
"Here?"
He shook his head, but did not speak further. Hazel frowned and continued on.
'Sanders Street.'
"What's your name?" she asked the boy. He didn't reply, and when she glanced over her shoulder, it didn't take Hazel too long to realize that she was alone.
"Jesus Christ," she breathed. A particularly cold wind settled contentedly against her neck like a purring cat of ice. Hazel jogged quickly down the road, her head tearing left and right, but the boy had disappeared.
'Why was he out so early?'
She dove into an alley, clutching her sides for warmth. It was too cold.
"Hey! Little kid!" she called, for lack of a name, but only her own voice responded in an echo. "Where'd you go?"
'Heart too fast. Something about sin.'
Those damn voices again. 'Maybe I am from the hospital for the crazy people.'
He wasn't in the alley. She returned to the street.
'Heart too fast. Something about sin.'
The next alley was empty. The voice in her head grew in both volume and girth, filling her head slowly, like her migraines.
'Heart too fast.'
The next alley revealed nothing to her, no little boy, no trashcans, just a clear, perfect street lined with little perfect garages.
'Something about SIN.'
'HEART TOO FAST.'
Like someone was yelling in her ear. She collapsed to her knees and didn't feel all the individual bits of gravel digging into her knees. Tears burned like a fire behind her eyes, and she could feel her pupils waxing to an unbearable circumference, felt her eyes writhe and stretch like they would burst at any moment.
"I think she's awake," a soft voice whispered.
"Good. We've done all we can do," a similar voice replied. "Now we have to go."
"No," Hazel wanted to say. "Don't go...don't leave me."
"I don't want to go," one protested. "Look at her...she's so pretty. Maybe she can help us. Maybe she's the one they're looking for."
"Shh."
There was a sudden pressure on her legs, then it disappeared. Feet shuffled and a door closed somewhere.
Hazel moaned. Her entire body felt utterly numb. When her eyes finally cleared, though her vision was still hazy, as though she was under the heavy influence of morphine, she was alone in a dark, crimson-colored room. At her left, charred wood smoldered in the remnants of a fire. She expected to find a cat at her feet, but it must have left with the voices, as there was no cat at her feet.
She sat up, swaying slightly, and swung her feet carefully over the edge of the bed. Ragged gray blankets gathered at her waist; she shoved them away sluggishly and stumbled to her feet. The world around her swayed perilously and swam in and out of focus. Her hands waved around in the air and finally clutched at the empty shelf in a bookcase. She raised her head from the ground slowly and gazed at the bookcase to discover that it wasn't empty; the books were pushed incredibly far back-nearly a foot.
With her vision so unclear, she could not read the titles. They majority were old books, gray, black, and brown in color, with golden lettering and peeling covers. She drew her fingers delicately along the spine of one, then wondered why she'd done so.
'I don't belong in here,' she thought, but her thoughts came too slowly. In the darkest corners of the room, something seemed to stir. Hazel spun lethargically and caught herself again on the bookcase so she didn't fall. The shadows seemed to quiver, but then again, she realized it might just be her eyes.
She took a careful step toward it, and the quivering shadow lashed out in anger, whipping a shimmering, wet string out at her. It caught on her arm and tugged away a layer of the sleeve of her jacket. Hazel jolted back, stumbling and crashing into something that felt like a bedside table. Something slid off the smooth wood and shattered into tiny, glittering pieces on the floor.
'I should have a knife in my pocket.'
Hazel kept her eyes on the shadow as she dug her hands into every pocket she could recall on the jacket. She found little, random objects-pieces of paper, a map printed in black ink on an off-white piece of cotton, a small, cardboard packaging box.
No knife.
She knelt carefully and patted her hand against the cement floor behind her until her hands closed around a shaft of glass that remained from what had fallen. Ignoring the tiny pinpricks of pain springing from shards of sharp, broken glass clinging to her skin like barbs, she clutched the rod of glass in a taught fist and drew it back carefully like a spear. The shadow still quivered, but did not attack. Hazel took a piece of glass with her free hand and hurled it at the shadow.
A gut-wrenching squelch and unearthly whine of agony wrenched out from the corner and another string lashed out at her, catching her empty hand and slitting a perfect, smooth gash from the center of her wrist to the first joint of her middle finger. Her voice seemed to burst from her body in a single, tormented cry. How it hurt, the sudden release of pressure from years of taught skin sudden breaking and splitting as far as would allow.
'That'll need stitches,' she thought in an oddly placed moment of bad humor.
The creature shivered and moved suddenly, catching Hazel off-guard and colliding hard with her, thrusting her down to the hard ground. Her head collided with the cement and her voice returned long enough for her to groan as a headache suddenly blossomed at the base of her skull.
In the faint light, the most she could make out was the (vague) form of a human, female torso struggling against a shivering, loose membrane of something graying, torn, and shimmering with something-blood-like a bleeding bruise. Where the tissue broke, a gray, scabbed hand tore at the surface, seizing at the air wildly, too stupid to attempt to tear the skin away and break free. Hazel could feel her body freeze up, felt herself become too terrified to move.
The source of this disgusting, gray skin was back at the corner. Still, on this being, she could find no whips, no string that lashed out at her when she grew too near. For a brief moment, she found herself in control of her body again. The monster wasn't attacking her-it seemed too enamored with attempting to free itself.
'Look for what's going to hurt you.'
She rose shakily and her eyes darted around the thing. From the shock of the moment (Hazel assumed), her vision began to clear and her alertness returned.
'Maybe...I can get out...'
She took a careful step to the side, and the glass crunched beneath her boots. The gray, slimy hand tore in her direction, but was cut short by the skin and slipped back inside the membrane with a disgusting 'slurp.' The being inside seemed to tremble. Hazel turned quickly to search for a door, but she collided with a body that seized her with two strong arms and smothered her mouth with a hand.
"Shh!" he was hissing. "Shut up!"
The face looked familiar. Hazel fell silent and let him turn her and hoist her up. The monster was still trembling and writhing. In its absence of attacking, the man behind her took one step, then stumbled back quickly. A sudden cold washed over her, but only for a moment, and Hazel discovered she was staring at a wall.
"What-the-FUCK-was-that?" she breathed, then struggled and beat at the arms still clutched around her. "Let me go!"
The arms released her and she spun on her savior, livid. "What the hell was that? Who the hell are you? How the hell did you get through that wall?"
In three short exclamations, her energy was spent. She slumped back against the wall and collapsed to her knees. The adrenaline dispersed from her system and the morphine-like drug took its toll again. Her vision, clear in the sudden pounding of adrenaline brought on by the attack by the-the thing, seemed to drop into a pool of water, where things blurred and swam lazily in and out of a strange, sleepy focus. She knew that figure...
"You've been tapped with White Claudia." Last's voice sounded distant and echoed oddly, as though he called to her from down a long hallway. "Maybe you should come with me."
"Sure," she murmured, stumbled to her feet, and collapsed again in his arms. It felt like the right thing to say.
Last was much stronger than he looked.
The young boy didn't take her hand for a moment. He studied her face with a child's paranoia, considered her for a moment, then suddenly dashed at her.
It startled her at first, but the little boy only flung his arms around her neck and buried his face against her chest. His body trembled.
"I was so scared," he whispered. When Hazel recovered from her shock, she stroked his dark head of hair gently.
"It's okay," she murmured.
"Mommy left me at the daycare," he sniffled. "And I fell asleep, and when I woke up, everyone was gone, and now I can't find mommy."
Hazel bit her lip. "We'll find her," she said softly, then instantly regretted her words. 'What if she's dead?'
"Really?"
She discovered the first traces of hope in his voice.
"I promise," Hazel murmured weakly. "But first we have to find a way across that huge chasm in the road."
"Chasm?"
"Um," she said quickly. "It's a big hole-"
"I know what a chasm is," he interrupted. "But what are you talking about?"
"Th-that hole in the road back there." She stood, and he followed her to the entrance to the flower shop. "The huge hole in the-"
Apparently, there wasn't one. Hazel froze in the doorway, gazing blandly at the full, unbroken path of road that led into the town. She bit her lip and refrained from speaking as she crossed over the full road in front of the boy.
He caught up with her quickly. "Are you from the mental hospital?"
"What?"
"Are you a patient at the mental hospital?"
'I'm working on a double major in sociology and...'
"No," she replied. "I'm not insane."
"Do you take care of the sick people there?"
'Summer counseling.'
"Yes. No. I don't know."
"I've seen you there before."
Hazel looked at him sharply. "Seen me where?"
"At the hospital for the crazy people."
"Here?"
He shook his head, but did not speak further. Hazel frowned and continued on.
'Sanders Street.'
"What's your name?" she asked the boy. He didn't reply, and when she glanced over her shoulder, it didn't take Hazel too long to realize that she was alone.
"Jesus Christ," she breathed. A particularly cold wind settled contentedly against her neck like a purring cat of ice. Hazel jogged quickly down the road, her head tearing left and right, but the boy had disappeared.
'Why was he out so early?'
She dove into an alley, clutching her sides for warmth. It was too cold.
"Hey! Little kid!" she called, for lack of a name, but only her own voice responded in an echo. "Where'd you go?"
'Heart too fast. Something about sin.'
Those damn voices again. 'Maybe I am from the hospital for the crazy people.'
He wasn't in the alley. She returned to the street.
'Heart too fast. Something about sin.'
The next alley was empty. The voice in her head grew in both volume and girth, filling her head slowly, like her migraines.
'Heart too fast.'
The next alley revealed nothing to her, no little boy, no trashcans, just a clear, perfect street lined with little perfect garages.
'Something about SIN.'
'HEART TOO FAST.'
Like someone was yelling in her ear. She collapsed to her knees and didn't feel all the individual bits of gravel digging into her knees. Tears burned like a fire behind her eyes, and she could feel her pupils waxing to an unbearable circumference, felt her eyes writhe and stretch like they would burst at any moment.
"I think she's awake," a soft voice whispered.
"Good. We've done all we can do," a similar voice replied. "Now we have to go."
"No," Hazel wanted to say. "Don't go...don't leave me."
"I don't want to go," one protested. "Look at her...she's so pretty. Maybe she can help us. Maybe she's the one they're looking for."
"Shh."
There was a sudden pressure on her legs, then it disappeared. Feet shuffled and a door closed somewhere.
Hazel moaned. Her entire body felt utterly numb. When her eyes finally cleared, though her vision was still hazy, as though she was under the heavy influence of morphine, she was alone in a dark, crimson-colored room. At her left, charred wood smoldered in the remnants of a fire. She expected to find a cat at her feet, but it must have left with the voices, as there was no cat at her feet.
She sat up, swaying slightly, and swung her feet carefully over the edge of the bed. Ragged gray blankets gathered at her waist; she shoved them away sluggishly and stumbled to her feet. The world around her swayed perilously and swam in and out of focus. Her hands waved around in the air and finally clutched at the empty shelf in a bookcase. She raised her head from the ground slowly and gazed at the bookcase to discover that it wasn't empty; the books were pushed incredibly far back-nearly a foot.
With her vision so unclear, she could not read the titles. They majority were old books, gray, black, and brown in color, with golden lettering and peeling covers. She drew her fingers delicately along the spine of one, then wondered why she'd done so.
'I don't belong in here,' she thought, but her thoughts came too slowly. In the darkest corners of the room, something seemed to stir. Hazel spun lethargically and caught herself again on the bookcase so she didn't fall. The shadows seemed to quiver, but then again, she realized it might just be her eyes.
She took a careful step toward it, and the quivering shadow lashed out in anger, whipping a shimmering, wet string out at her. It caught on her arm and tugged away a layer of the sleeve of her jacket. Hazel jolted back, stumbling and crashing into something that felt like a bedside table. Something slid off the smooth wood and shattered into tiny, glittering pieces on the floor.
'I should have a knife in my pocket.'
Hazel kept her eyes on the shadow as she dug her hands into every pocket she could recall on the jacket. She found little, random objects-pieces of paper, a map printed in black ink on an off-white piece of cotton, a small, cardboard packaging box.
No knife.
She knelt carefully and patted her hand against the cement floor behind her until her hands closed around a shaft of glass that remained from what had fallen. Ignoring the tiny pinpricks of pain springing from shards of sharp, broken glass clinging to her skin like barbs, she clutched the rod of glass in a taught fist and drew it back carefully like a spear. The shadow still quivered, but did not attack. Hazel took a piece of glass with her free hand and hurled it at the shadow.
A gut-wrenching squelch and unearthly whine of agony wrenched out from the corner and another string lashed out at her, catching her empty hand and slitting a perfect, smooth gash from the center of her wrist to the first joint of her middle finger. Her voice seemed to burst from her body in a single, tormented cry. How it hurt, the sudden release of pressure from years of taught skin sudden breaking and splitting as far as would allow.
'That'll need stitches,' she thought in an oddly placed moment of bad humor.
The creature shivered and moved suddenly, catching Hazel off-guard and colliding hard with her, thrusting her down to the hard ground. Her head collided with the cement and her voice returned long enough for her to groan as a headache suddenly blossomed at the base of her skull.
In the faint light, the most she could make out was the (vague) form of a human, female torso struggling against a shivering, loose membrane of something graying, torn, and shimmering with something-blood-like a bleeding bruise. Where the tissue broke, a gray, scabbed hand tore at the surface, seizing at the air wildly, too stupid to attempt to tear the skin away and break free. Hazel could feel her body freeze up, felt herself become too terrified to move.
The source of this disgusting, gray skin was back at the corner. Still, on this being, she could find no whips, no string that lashed out at her when she grew too near. For a brief moment, she found herself in control of her body again. The monster wasn't attacking her-it seemed too enamored with attempting to free itself.
'Look for what's going to hurt you.'
She rose shakily and her eyes darted around the thing. From the shock of the moment (Hazel assumed), her vision began to clear and her alertness returned.
'Maybe...I can get out...'
She took a careful step to the side, and the glass crunched beneath her boots. The gray, slimy hand tore in her direction, but was cut short by the skin and slipped back inside the membrane with a disgusting 'slurp.' The being inside seemed to tremble. Hazel turned quickly to search for a door, but she collided with a body that seized her with two strong arms and smothered her mouth with a hand.
"Shh!" he was hissing. "Shut up!"
The face looked familiar. Hazel fell silent and let him turn her and hoist her up. The monster was still trembling and writhing. In its absence of attacking, the man behind her took one step, then stumbled back quickly. A sudden cold washed over her, but only for a moment, and Hazel discovered she was staring at a wall.
"What-the-FUCK-was-that?" she breathed, then struggled and beat at the arms still clutched around her. "Let me go!"
The arms released her and she spun on her savior, livid. "What the hell was that? Who the hell are you? How the hell did you get through that wall?"
In three short exclamations, her energy was spent. She slumped back against the wall and collapsed to her knees. The adrenaline dispersed from her system and the morphine-like drug took its toll again. Her vision, clear in the sudden pounding of adrenaline brought on by the attack by the-the thing, seemed to drop into a pool of water, where things blurred and swam lazily in and out of a strange, sleepy focus. She knew that figure...
"You've been tapped with White Claudia." Last's voice sounded distant and echoed oddly, as though he called to her from down a long hallway. "Maybe you should come with me."
"Sure," she murmured, stumbled to her feet, and collapsed again in his arms. It felt like the right thing to say.
Last was much stronger than he looked.