Episode 37: Sleepless Dreams
"You're still worrying about her, aren't you?" Jean said as she took another sip of her beer and stretched her legs out on the couch in Linna's apartment.
"Of course I am," replied Linna, swishing her own bottle back and forth in her hand.
"Hey, at least she's awake," said Jean, sending Linna a reassuring smile. "That's a step up from a couple of days ago."
"But she isn't... saying anything," said Linna, staring mournfully at her drink.
"That's not true," said Jean. "Leon said she was talking to him."
"That was two days ago. She hasn't said a word to anyone since! Not to Leon, not to Nigel –"
"And not to you," Jean interjected, looking remotely dejected as she spoke.
"No, not to me," Linna said, feeling warmth rise in her cheeks. Linna could never hide when Jean was around. The American had her completely figured out. On some level, Linna was upset that she had not been the person Priss had spoken to, and Jean knew it.
"Linna," said Jean, "Priss just lost her kid. It's gonna take awhile for her to get over that. But she's strong. She'll find a way to cope. Give her time to grieve."
"You can't tell me that she'll ever be the same after this," said Linna.
"No, she won't," Jean replied bluntly. "She'll never be the same. But that doesn't mean she won't make it through. You know, for all that loner bullshit, Priss sure does have a lot of people who really care about her." Jean let out strained laugh and gulped down the rest of her beer. Linna couldn't help but chuckle slightly herself. Jean, ever perceptive, was right as usual. Despite her best efforts to keep people away, Priss had managed to capture her share of hearts.
Sylia couldn't sleep. She stared up at the shadows on the ceiling, trying desperately to quiet the clamor in her mind. Her brain was buzzing with the thoughts that had been troubling her ever since Galatea's death. Voices whispered to her from the depths of her consciousness.
It's your fault.
Sylia clamped her eyes shut and tried to will the voices away. She just wanted to sleep. Every night had been like this. Last night was like this, as was the night before it. Every night since the incident, Sylia lay awake a wrestled with her own guilt.
It's all your fault. You were the one who sent Priss into a trap. You were the one who refused to listen to anyone who told you it was too dangerous.
Sylia pretended that nothing was wrong. She made sure to get up before Nigel every day so that she could hide the circles under her eyes with makeup. Every morning she put on her most convincing smile and pretended that she had gotten a good night's sleep. She kept telling herself that the voices would cease in time. But the fact was, they were only getting louder.
You hated Galatea. You despised her. You didn't trust her and thought she was a threat. You secretly wanted her to die, and now she has. It's YOUR FAULT!
"No!" Sylia sat up sharply, the word forming on her lips before she could suppress it. She clapped a hand over her own mouth glancing over at Nigel nervously, but he hadn't stirred. Sylia sighed, relieved that Nigel had managed to sleep through her little outburst. She collapsed back onto her pillow, feeling her heart pound violently in her chest.
"It's not your fault," said Nigel, still unmoving.
"Oh! N-Nigel," stammered Sylia, "you are awake. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to –"
"You didn't wake me up," said Nigel as he hoisted himself up onto his elbows. "I wasn't asleep in the first place."
"I see," said Sylia, turning her face away from him.
"Sylia, don't think I haven't known what's going on," said Nigel. "I know you haven't been sleeping and I know why."
"Well I guess you're pretty smart then," Sylia hissed.
"There's no need to get nasty with me, Sylia," said Nigel, sternly. "I'm on your side, remember?"
"You're right," Sylia said, ashamed. "I'm sorry." Nigel put his hand on Sylia's, and as he shifted his gaze to her face he noticed that tears were welling up in her eyes.
"Sylia, it's not your fault. Nobody could have predicted this."
"But... I wanted it to happen, Nigel!" Sylia cried "On some level, I wanted Galatea gone!"
"Yeah, I know. But that doesn't make it your fault." Nigel took hold of Sylia and gently lifted her into an embrace. He could feel her body quiver as he drew her closer. The tears trapped in her eyes finally burst free, streaming down her face and onto Nigel's shoulder.
"I was afraid of her, Nigel," Sylia sobbed. "I was afraid, and I wish I could say that I never actually wanted her to come to harm, but I did. And now she's dead and Priss won't speak and I feel... I feel like I'm a bad person."
"Sylia," Nigel whispered, "I'm only going to say this once. I love you."
"Dammit, Leon, you're running out of sick days!" Daley placed a hand on the door of the room Priss occupied, slamming it shut just as Leon began to open it. He had been trying to reason with Leon for over half an hour, and he was beginning to get aggravated.
"This isn't your business, Wong!" Leon bellowed. "Let me back in!"
"It's been almost a week, Leon. It looks suspicious. It won't do you any good to get fired."
"I don't care," snapped Leon, pulling on the door knob. "Let them fire me, I don't care!"
"Well I do," said Daley, once again pushing the door shut. "You might be a moron, but you're my partner and a damn good cop, and I need you."
"Daley, I appreciate the sentiment, but –"
"Master Daley is correct, sir," said Henderson as he entered the hallway. A silver tray holding a pitcher and glass was balanced elegantly in his left hand.
"No offense, Henderson, but this is between me and Daley," said Leon, trying not to sound harsh. He was in a bad mood, but nevertheless he liked the old man and didn't want to take out his frustration on the butler.
"I do beg your pardon, sir," Henderson replied with a slight bow, "but I do not think that Priss would want you to lose your job."
"But –" Leon protested.
"I will take care of her, I assure you," said Henderson. "She will be here when you get back."
Leon's hand slid feebly off the door knob. He gazed at the floor, defeated. He knew that this was an argument that he was going to lose.
"Come on, Leon," said Daley, placing a hand on his partner's shoulder. "Nene and I stopped by your apartment and picked up some clean clothes for you. You can change and get cleaned up when we get to work."
Leon sighed, but nodded in assent. As much as he didn't want to go, he knew that his partner was right. He couldn't afford to lose his job. With one final nod to Henderson, Leon turned and began sulking his way out to the car. Out of politeness, Henderson waited until the two men had vacated the hallway before he opened the door to Priss' room.
Humans are such fragile things. They are weak, susceptible to their own trivial emotions. All it takes is one small tragedy to turn a formidable woman into a broken down mess. It is truly pathetic. Still, I do enjoy watching it. Seeing her agonize brings me solace. I didn't realize how much satisfaction I would get watching her suffer...
A dark cloud of dust swirled in an upward spiral as a gust of wind came sweeping through the wreckage of the Knight Saber's latest battle. The rubble formed great mounds that loomed like mountains, casting heavy shadows. It was a grey wasteland, devoid of life and color; blanketed in a thick layer of powdery ash.
A single boomer plodded aimlessly through the wreckage, stopping every now and then to pick up small pieces of debris. It didn't appear to take much interest in the woman as she made her way toward the gargantuan heap that had once been Mason's body. She moved like a ghost, walking with an eerie grace. She left soft footprints in the ash with each delicate step of her bare feet. Her white night shirt billowed softly in the breeze as she drifted toward her destination. Her eyes were dull and sorrowful. Everything about her made it seem as though she belonged in that place - that desolation.
"What do you seek, Knight Saber?" said the boomer as it knelt down to pick up another piece of debris. Priss came to an abrupt halt at the sound of the boomer's metallic voice. She shook her head in dismay, feeling as though she had just awoken from a strange trance. She wasn't sure what had brought her to this place. She remembered hearing the argument outside her door. She remembered climbing out the large window with the white curtains. She remembered that feeling that pulled each step forward as she gravitated toward this location. But she couldn't remember what had drawn her here – some dream lurking in the back of her mind that she couldn't quite access.
"Well, Knight Saber? What is it you seek? Sanctuary? Revenge?" The boomer slowly rose, its silver body glinting slightly. It turned to face Priss, staring at her with eyes that radiated with an icy-blue glow.
"I'm... I'm not sure," replied Priss. "Both, I guess."
"So does he," said the boomer. "You and he seek the same thing, then."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" said Priss as a scowl settled across her face.
"Perhaps that you should seek something else," said the boomer, taking a shambling step forward.
"I didn't come here for advice," Priss said coldly, immediately recognizing the folly of her own statement.
The boomer cocked its metallic head to one side, its eyes fixated on Priss. She could feel its gaze pressing down on her, penetrating her every defense. Priss let out a deep sigh. Somehow she knew that any attempt to hide from the boomer would be futile.
Why did I come here?
"They always come here, those lost in despair," said the boomer, replying to Priss' unspoken question.
"That makes no sense," said Priss.
"The location may be different," said the boomer, "but the place is the same. They all come here."
Priss frowned. "Okay, that makes even less sense."
"Don't stay," said the boomer, ignoring Priss' previous comment. "She doesn't want you to stay here."
The boomer turned and shuffled off, leaving Priss alone in the wreckage. She stared after it, her mind a whirlwind of uncertainty. She was unable to sort out what had just happened.
Priss suddenly felt very weak. All strength fled her limbs as she was struck by something unseen and unexpected. Disorientation overwhelmed her as her head began to spin wildly. Her surroundings began to stretch and distort in her vision, and a wave of nausea surged up from her stomach. What was happening to her? Gravity tugged at her relentlessly. She felt as if she were being pulled down by invisible wires. Her legs succumbed to frailty, collapsing beneath her and landing her face down in grey ash. A tremor worked its way through her body as she choked for air, and the grey world faded into black.
Come back, Priss. Please, don't stay here.