Authors Note: Thanks everyone for the great reviews I really appreciate the
encouragement. This chapter is short but I couldn't link it with the next
one without a page break and I hate those. Chapter 5 is on the way but I'm
a bit busy, I'll put it up as soon as I can.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
---------------------
Shoulder to shoulder the pair stood, still like statues, the door to her room just in front, the last barrier that kept her from them. The quiet noises from other rooms and the passing of faceless people in the hall blocked out from their minds, their thoughts turned only to the door in front.
He stood with his eyes fixed on the silver numbered plate, which sat in the centre of the white veneer of the door - a plaque, a label, a sign, it grasped his mind with more force than the riddles to the puzzles he loved to do, to while away the hours. His eyes traced its simple numbers, the lines and shapes that came together to register in his mind, 572. The numbers black against the silver stood like soldiers against the firing wall, silhouettes and shadows warning of times gone by and those yet to come. Black like the night and the despair which weighed in the pit of his stomach. Black like his thoughts.
He closed his eyes against the pain that swam through his veins and the burning sensation that filled his lungs as if the air itself had caught alight eating him away from the inside out. He swallowed the apple in his throat rising and falling like the tide. Willing himself to breath he opened his eyes revealing the ice blue irises floating in bloodshot seas, the red of the veins mirroring the blood that he washed from his hands. Her blood. Her blood that had stained his hands like his guilt had stained his heart. Her blood which she spilled for him.
A firm hand on his shoulder dragged him back from the abyss into which his mind had gazed. Turing his head his eyes met Catherine's, hers filled with concern and a barely constrained desperation. Her hand tightened, then loosened, the silent gesture of support calming his nerves. A nod and her hair fell forward onto her face as her hand slipped off his shoulder and down the charcoal grey of his jacket sleeve, coming to rest crossed against her stomach.
She watched through blurred eyes as his hand reached forward, holding the dull silver handle in his hand. With a breath he pushed down, the mechanism of the door catching and finally releasing and a small sliver of light from the other room appeared between the door and the frame. She watched as he threw a final glance her way before moving through the door into the room beyond.
Shoulder to shoulder the pair stood, still like statues, the door to her room just in front, the last barrier that kept her from them. The quiet noises from other rooms and the passing of faceless people in the hall blocked out from their minds, their thoughts turned only to the door in front.
He stood with his eyes fixed on the silver numbered plate, which sat in the centre of the white veneer of the door - a plaque, a label, a sign, it grasped his mind with more force than the riddles to the puzzles he loved to do, to while away the hours. His eyes traced its simple numbers, the lines and shapes that came together to register in his mind, 572. The numbers black against the silver stood like soldiers against the firing wall, silhouettes and shadows warning of times gone by and those yet to come. Black like the night and the despair which weighed in the pit of his stomach. Black like his thoughts.
He closed his eyes against the pain that swam through his veins and the burning sensation that filled his lungs as if the air itself had caught alight eating him away from the inside out. He swallowed the apple in his throat rising and falling like the tide. Willing himself to breath he opened his eyes revealing the ice blue irises floating in bloodshot seas, the red of the veins mirroring the blood that he washed from his hands. Her blood. Her blood that had stained his hands like his guilt had stained his heart. Her blood which she spilled for him.
A firm hand on his shoulder dragged him back from the abyss into which his mind had gazed. Turing his head his eyes met Catherine's, hers filled with concern and a barely constrained desperation. Her hand tightened, then loosened, the silent gesture of support calming his nerves. A nod and her hair fell forward onto her face as her hand slipped off his shoulder and down the charcoal grey of his jacket sleeve, coming to rest crossed against her stomach.
She watched through blurred eyes as his hand reached forward, holding the dull silver handle in his hand. With a breath he pushed down, the mechanism of the door catching and finally releasing and a small sliver of light from the other room appeared between the door and the frame. She watched as he threw a final glance her way before moving through the door into the room beyond.