Dreaming in Gray
Chapter 5: Stranger it Feels
Author's note: Like this story? Hate it? Think there's something that needs further clarification in later chapters? Found a mistake? Want to give me some encouragement? Please, review. Also, major love and thanks go out to Mamono for beta-ing this and the last chapter. As I write this, I realize that it's been a year since I attempted starting this fic, so also, it has been over a year since I have met her, and she still continues to rock hardcore. I couldn't ask for a better friend.
Standard disclaimers apply. YuGiOh and "Kiss From A Rose" are property of their own creators.
Looking through the peep hole in the Mazakis' front door could only provide a distorted view of the outdoors. One could not see the snow blowers three blocks in the distance, attempting to cleanse the streets from the thick layer of snow that covered it. It was nearly impossible to see the two sets of footprints in the fresh powder leading away from the house. In fact, through the fish-eyed perspective that hole provided, all that could be seen is the welcome mat set outside the door: the mat that no one was standing on or even near.
Relieved, Mrs. Mazaki finally decided she could leave her watch. She had been standing by the door since the two visitors had arrived around four or five minutes earlier, just to be sure they didn't try to do anything funny. She had some dishes she needed to attend to now, but before heading off to the kitchen, she checked both of the front door's locks. Better safe than sorry, she'd always say.
Once in the kitchen, she paused to look at the time on the microwave's clock. Digital numbers blinked back at her, reading 11:43 AM. Near lunch time, and the sink still full of breakfast dishes. This simply would not do. Dutifully, Mrs. Mazaki began to fill the sink with water, letting the sound of the running tap dissolve some of her tense nerves.
There weren't many things that she admitted to not understanding. Her list of things she found unexplainable included the way her house would unavoidably get dirty moments after cleaning it, how socks lose themselves behind the dryer, why after she finished cleaning the dishes, a new, dirty dish would somehow appear in the sink. And atop this list of things she didn't think she'd ever understand are teenagers; namely her daughter, her one and only child. There was just no way of understanding how such a nice girl could be friends with a couple of hooligans like the two who had just dropped by. Where had she, as a mother, gone wrong? Anzu was enrolled in dance, had been for years, and yet, never seemed to really make friends with any of the pleasant, good little girls in her class. In fact, Mrs. Mazaki couldn't even think of the last time her daughter had even been close friends with any girl. The only friend that her motherly instincts didn't object to was that short boy with the wild hair named Yuugi. He had always been exceedingly nice to her daughter and once even offered to help Mrs. Mazaki with her garden. Mrs. Mazaki had to admit to being lenient perhaps too lenient, when Yuugi was involved with Anzu's daily plans, sometimes not seeing her for days at a time while she went off to see one of his little card playing contests. That didn't make her a bad mother, did it? As she scrubbed the crusted peanut butter and jelly off of a plate, she decided she probably needed to have a heart to heart with her daughter before long.
The last dish rinsed and placed in the dish washer, she dried her hands on a nearby towel as she gazed back up at the clock. 11:56, and still no sight of her daughter. "Is she still in bed?" Mrs. Mazaki asked herself, ascending the stairs to her daughter's room. A panicked thought entered her head: What if she snuck out the window to be with those two hooligans? Worse yet: What if they took her against her will? Her poor, poor baby! "Anzu?" She called up the stairs, trying to keep her voice even. "Anzu?" She was nearly upon the room, and still, no answer. Nervously, Mrs. Mazaki knocked on her daughter's door. "Darling? It's nearly noon. That's a little late to be sleeping in, even on a Sunday, don't you think?" No response. The frantic mother quickly flung the door open. Her eyes darted first to the windows. It was still closed, so she couldn't have snuck out. The cheery, yellow sheets where still on the bed... and her daughter, sure enough, was still tucked beneath them. Breathing out a sigh of relief, Mrs. Mazaki walked to her daughter's bedside.
Gently, the worried mother shook her daughter's shoulder. "Time to wake up," she whispered. This seemed to make no difference. "Anzu?" This was beginning to get a little frustrating. "Anzu! I know you can hear me! Up. Now, or else you can't go anywhere with Yuugi over the rest of winter break." Surprised that even this threat didn't illicit a response, she placed the back of her hand against Anzu's forehead. Maybe she was...
Mrs. Mazaki gasped, pulling her hand away. Anzu, her baby, was burning with fever.
"This is the place," the guide announces, stopping in front of a nondescript house. Yuugi wonders how he could tell the difference between this house and the others; they all seem to look the same. On closer inspection, he sees that one side of the building has what appears to be an extra room jutting from its side.
"Forgive my asking, but why this house? Do they know we are coming?" Yuugi finds himself asking, and inwardly wondering where he ends and the future pharaoh begins.
The guide smiles kindly, "The family who lives here is well known for their kindness to travelers. They expect little in return for their kindness, and won't ask questions as to why we're here." He explains as he carefully dismounts his horse. His diminutive body is seemingly suspended in air for an instant before his feet hit the ground. "Kedamen? Henuka?" He sends pointed glances at both guards, "Watch his highness while I arrange for us to stay." The two guards snicker behind their hands, glancing at one another before smirking up at the future pharaoh and his camel.
"Hear that 'your majesty? We're in charge now." Henuka, the dark haired guard, sneers as the other guard crossed his arms and nods in agreement. Yuugi finds it extremely, extremely tempting to respond, each retort that came to mind more mean spirited than the last. Each comeback nothing at all like he would usually think of.
'I guess the Other Me had a really foul mouth.' Yuugi thinks, embarrassed, as the future pharaoh's inner cursings continue. It takes a considerable amount of energy to keep these comments to himself instead of yelling at the guards.
Obviously disappointed at his lack of response, the guards follow Yuugi's gaze to the front door of the house where the guide talks animatedly to an older looking woman.
"So, your adviser? The old man," Kedamen, the lighter haired boy asks after a moment of silence, and points one thumb back at their guide, "he's about a hundred years old, right?"
Yuugi blinks a puzzled expression crossing his face, "What?"
"Maybe a couple of years short, right?" Kedamen tries again, "Someone I was talking to at our last stop said that he's been the top adviser to every pharaoh that they can remember."
A thin laugh escapes the future king's lips, "They only remember two pharaohs then: my grandfather and my father. I know not Shimon's age, but I do know his father was also a top adviser while he was alive."
"I bet they looked the same then, " Kedamen retorts quickly, crossing his arms across his chest, "His father was probably just as crazy-looking."
A cold glare is his only response.
Just then, Shimon, the guide, walks back over, smiling widely, "They will take us in for the night, provided we assist with chores in the morning."
"Then what are we waiting for?" Henuka asks loudly, not bothering to stifle a yawn, "Let's go in!"
After leading their animals into the family's palisaded pen, all four men finally step foot into the household. Yuugi finds it surprising that, despite the lack of modern air conditioning in Ancient Egypt, the house remains several shades cooler than the lingering heat outside. The small windows near the building's ceiling seem to be acting as vents, allowing breezes through the cozy looking house.
A part of him feels a bit nervous as the mother walks forward to greet the group. He doesn't quite understand why--- she seems nice enough. He realizes then that he doesn't know how to properly show respect to this woman. He has grown so accustomed to being shown respect to that he doesn't know how to return the favor. That along with Yuugi's own fear of staying the night with someone that he doesn't know.
The woman smiles, her dark but graying hair falling over her face as she bows her head. "Welcome to our household," she says, her voice soft.
"Thank you for your hospitality on this evening," Yuugi finds himself saying, bowing his own head to her for a moment.
"My husband is already asleep, so forgive him for not welcoming you as well." Yuugi notices the bags under her eyes and the slight sag to her smile, and suddenly isn't nervous any more. "It has been a long day for all of us. I'm afraid that the area we have built for our guests is otherwise occupied tonight. There is room for one of you to rest in there. My husband and I will gladly offer up our bed to the other three of you."
Shimon places a hand on her shoulder, "As I told you, we don't wish to inconvenience you. Myself and these two," (Henuka and Kedamen cast nervous glances at one another), "will rest on the ground tonight."
"If you're sure..." She presses one more time.
Kedamen begins to speak up, "Actua---"
"We're sure," Shimon affirms while stomping on Kedamen's foot to keep him silent.
She begins to walk away, "I'll find some blankets for the three of you. Your companion may go into his room now, but remember, there is someone else in there also. My daughter has taken ill, but I promise she will not disrupt your sleep."
Suddenly it seems that the future ruler is the one with the sour end of the deal. He realizes though that the ancient Egyptians believe that angry spirits, not viruses, are responsible for making people sick. Surely the spirit would focus on the girl and leave him alone?
The first thing he notices after stepping into the room is how much darker it seems than the rest of the house. Even the small window seems to be blocked from emitting any of the moon's pale silver glow. His bare feet make no noise on the earth as he walks to the cot on the opposite side of the room from the girl. He tries to make himself sit down on it, but for some reason, can't bring himself to. Instead, he finds himself walking towards her, holding his breath for fear of inhaling her sick air. She is shaking, but not violently. Something seems to be holding her in place. It is then he notices the shadow coiled around her. Carefully, he brings his fingers closer to her face, seeing if he could wave the shadow and it's hold away from her. He cannot. The shadow is cold, and his fingers slip right through, but can do nothing to move it. He is touching her face now, and her eyes open slightly at the sensation.
The shadow seems to stir as she moves, and the impossible happens. The shadow opens its glowing eyes, staring right at him. He tries to back away, but it is too late. The shadow is no longer on the girl, it is on him, grasping his hands in its own immaterial ones. Is this the spirit plaguing the girl? Will he become sick like her, all because of this? He shudders, struggling, trying to get away, but the shadow still holds him.
A feeling of familiarity passes over him, and he stops his struggle. There's a whispering sound above the silence of the evening. "Partner. Partner, it's me."
"Other me," He whispers, the once familiar words feeling foreign on the tongue of the future boy-king. Then he nods, no longer resisting as the shadow melds into his body. When it is done, he is tired, but he does not move for the bed assigned to him. Instead, he kneels by her bedside, and falls asleep there, grasping her sweating hand, his head cradled in his own arm. Despite the position's awkwardness, it still feels strangely comforting.