Eryn dumped her bag on the bed before flicking her fingers at the door and TK-ing it closed. Glancing around the sparsely decorated room, she noticed a large dresser situated in the corner of the room, almost opposite the bed, and above it, a mirror. She walked over to the dresser and examined her reflection. The girl in the mirror examined her back, her grey eyes serious.
If eyes are the windows to the soul, whoever fated mine was just being a smart-ass, she thought, amused in an ironic sort of way. Leaning forward slightly, she breathed gently on the mirror. Her breath created a circle of fog on the reflective surface. With the tip of her right index finger, she wrote: Grey Black (E) plus White (G) Me. She stared at the equation for a moment, then, sighing, she wiped the writing off with her wrist.
"And the screwy thing is," she said out loud to her reflection, "that there is no outward sign. I mean, I look normal, even though I'm anything but. Even the majority of my powers seem relatively normal, by witch standards."
Turning away from the dresser, she walked over to the bed, cracking her knuckles. She sat down on the bed
/…it hurt…oh, god, it hurt…he felt so cold…the wound in his stomach from the athame wouldn't stop bleeding…that had hurt, being stabbed…more than hurt…oh, god, he didn't want to die…it was getting hard to breath…he didn't want to die…/
Eryn catapulted to her feet with a strangled gasp, her hands clutching her stomach. She looked down at her abdomen and slowly moved her hands away. She sighed in relief. No blood. She swallowed hard and turned slowly to look at the bed.
She'd felt like she was…dying. But she hadn't been. She hadn't been stabbed with an athame in the stomach…she hadn't felt her own blood draining out of her…hadn't felt her own lungs stop taking in breath…hadn't felt her own heart stop beating…
She felt tears pricking at the back of her eyes and bit her lip, hard. She knew what she had felt. She had felt the dying memories/emotions of the twenty-two-year-old young man who had lain on that bed as he died. Eryn cursed her 16th birthday to hell.
The day Eryn had turned sixteen, she had developed Psychometry: the ability to feel and see things connected with an object. It was an obscure branch of Premonition: it only let the witch see into the Past events that object had been there for, not the Future.
Eryn had had Psychometry for over a year, and she hated it. She couldn't fully control it, and because every object in the world had had at least one thing happen to or near it - be it good, bad, joyful, fearful, angry, horrified, or whatever - she could never escape it. The fact that she was an Empath as well only served to make it worse: it boosted the feelings side of the Psychometry. If, for example, she picked up a demonic athame, she would feel murderous and evil until she put it down.
Eryn took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She walked back over to the bed and hesitantly reached out and laid her hand on the bed
/…it didn't hurt so much, anymore…did that mean he was dying?…oh god, he hoped not…he didn't want to die…he couldn't…he hadn't saved him…he'd failed…that seemed to hurt so much more than his stomach, now…don't you give up, either 'You Either'……………/
Eryn pulled away, trembling. He'd died. Whoever he was, he'd died. She wondered if anyone living in the house now had known him, if they remembered him….if they had cared about him.
He'd died for protecting someone - that much she could tell - or trying to. She wondered if he had failed. If whoever he'd been trying to save had been saved. She hoped they had, and he hadn't failed.
She'd heard his last thoughts, and his last words. He'd been telling someone not to give up. She hoped whoever it was hadn't given up. He'd died to help them. The least they could've done was keep going.
She sighed. Great, she thought ruefully. This is just great. I get given a room that has a bed that someone died in. She took a deep breath in and let it out slowly, then glanced around the room.
"If you're still here, I want you to know I'm sorry you had to die," she said softly. The chances of the poor guy hanging around were actually pretty good, considering the manner of his death, and the fact that he'd left behind some unfinished business. Just in case he was stuck in the room with no way to get free, she began to recite a spell.
"I call the Old Ones, Blessed Be,
To take this spirit and set it free.
If it now lingers, let it go on,
On to where it does belong.
But if it chooses to here stay,
Let it go on another day."
Eryn glanced around the room, but nothing seemed out of place. He probably had moved on, she thought, hoping she wasn't just kidding herself. If the other person had promised to not give up, though, he would have moved on, she reasoned. He had truly believed they wouldn't give up…
A knock on the door made her jump. Rolling her eyes at herself, she walked over and opened the door. Wyatt was standing outside.
"Hey," he said with a small grin.
"Hey yourself," she told him.
"Listen, if you want to have a shower, it's free."
"I didn't realize I would have had to pay," she replied. Wyatt laughed.
"I didn't mean it like that! I meant my lazy-ass brother has finally got out of the shower, so you can, you know, have one."
Eryn nodded. "I will, thanks," she said with a smile. He nodded and began to close the door.
"The towels are in the cupboard opposite the bathroom," he added just before he completely closed it.
Eryn blew out a breath and walked back over to the mirror. She examined herself critically, then tugged at a strand of dusty red hair.
"To wash or not to wash?" she asked herself, biting her lower lip thoughtfully. She shook her head slightly, and the dust rose slightly to create a weird sort of halo around her head. With a small smile, she pulled her hair out of its ponytail and shook her head, hard. Soon the dust was flying.
After a minute or so, she stopped and looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair was now back to its original burnished red. "Not to wash," she said with a satisfied grin. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail, leaving a small amount not pulled through, then she twirled the rest of her hair around that part and secured it in a bun with a second hair-tie.
She walked over to the bed, and was about to sit down, but stopped herself just in time. She grabbed her backpack and slung it over her shoulder without touching the bed, then walked out of the bedroom, hoping she wouldn't run across Chris.
A few moments later she was tossing the towel over the shower rail and turning the water taps to get the right temperature. As she waited for the water to heat up, she pulled her dusty T-shirt over her head, undid her belt, and kicked off her jeans. She stripped off the rest of her clothes, then dived into the shower.
Three minutes later, all the dust and grime had been washed away, and she was stepping out of the shower, the towel wrapped firmly around her. She grabbed her clothes from the floor and orbed back to the room.
She pulled out a pair of white silk boxers and a tank-top that said "Bite Me…Gently" and laid them on the bed - being careful not to touch the bed itself - then dried herself off quickly. She dropped the towel on the floor, then grabbed the boxers - carefully - and stepped into them before yanking the tank-top over her head. With a faint sigh, she turned and looked at the bed.
"Okay," she said softly. "You don't like me, and I don't like you, but I have to sleep here tonight. So, please…stop giving me hits. And don't give me any weird dreams. Okay?" For a second longer, she stared at the bed, then she rolled her eyes at herself.
"Great," she said out loud, "I'm having a conversation with an inanimate object. Not only that, I'm requesting that same inanimate object to not give me any weird dreams, as if it could decide not to…" She sighed to herself. "I need a shrink."
Looking back at the bed, she took a deep breath in and slowly let it out. She walked over to the side of the bed. I won't have a psychometric hit, I won't have a psychometric hit, she chanted to herself as she reached the bed and began to draw back the covers. Weird mantra, another small, always sarcastic and analytical part of her mind said as she continued her chant. Breathing slowly and evenly, Eryn sat down on the edge of the bed
/…cold, cold, cold…/
and slowly swung her legs onto the bed. The familiar coldness was creeping into her blood, but she forced the feeling away, ignored it, pretended it wasn't there…and suddenly, it disappeared, leaving her slightly breathless.
Nodding slowly, she slid her legs under the covers and then pulled them up to cover her body. She let her head fall slowly back until it was resting lightly on the pillows. Nothing more happened.
With a small, heartfelt sigh, she closed her eyes and let her head sink into the soft, fluffy pillows. Then she frowned as a thought occurred to her.
"Lights…" She groaned. She opened her eyes and glanced at the door, and at the light switch positioned just to its left. She squinted at the ground, guessing how many feet she'd have to go. It wasn't that far …but then again, if she got out of the bed now, she might have to go through the whole I won't get a psychometric hit-thing again.
I'm justified, she thought, extracting one arm from the warm bed and twitching her fingers at the light switch. It pushed down with a faint click, and the room was plunged into…not complete darkness, but damn-near close.
With a tired yawn, Eryn closed her eyes again
He was lying on the bed. The blood from the wound had soaked through his shirt and was spilling down his left side, soaking through the back of his shirt and jacket and into the sheets of the bed.
………
His left side was one big hurt. It ached, but in a cold way, like ice. He felt so cold, as if his blood had turned to ice as well.
………
I don't wanna die, he thought desperately. I don't wanna die. I'm too young to die. I'm not even twenty-two yet… he laughed sadly, then stopped as pain shot through his chest.
………
A black mist seemed to float over his eyes, and he blinked. When it cleared…it didn't clear. Not really. When he looked at the doorway, the bright wood seemed to have a greyish tinge to it…everything did, walls, floor…he raised his hand with an effort. His skin seemed to be drained of colour, too.
………
Weird, he thought, letting his hand fall back on the bed. He swallowed.
………
Hurry, Dad, he thought. Hurry. Save him. Save him, you save me.
………
He took a slow, cautious breath in. It was starting to get harder to breathe. He knew that was a bad thing. A very bad thing. He'd actually done grade ten Biology, and he knew that if it was getting hard for him to breathe, and he'd sustained an injury that involved blood flowing out of his body, it meant that he had lost a lot of blood…meant that there wasn't enough oxygen feeding the cells in his body…meant that his lungs were starting to collapse…
………
His breath hitched in his throat
her eyes snapped open, and she sat up. She tried to breathe, but her lungs just didn't want to. Then, reluctantly, they began to move outwards as she inhaled. Air flowed into her lungs, and she collapsed backwards with a sigh, enjoying being able to breathe.
After a few moments in which she concentrated on breathing and not thinking about him, she got out of the bed. She flicked her hand in the general direction of the door. The lights came on with a faint buzz, harsh and bright, but Eryn didn't flinch or blink as she began grabbed her back-pack from where she had tossed it. She glanced at the alarm clock on the bedside table. It read 2:01. She rolled her eyes, then flicked her hand again at the light switch. The room was plunged once more into darkness. She glanced at the black mass beside her that was the bed.
"I can not do this," she said to it. "I don't want to die, in real life, or in my dreams. My death, or someone else's. So screw you, and this room, and I'll be upstairs if anyone needs me."
She grabbed a blanket off the bed and orbed into the attic. She tip-toed as quietly as she could to the sofa, avoiding the creaky floorboard the Stoli had stood on before when they'd vanquished him, the one with the scorch mark. She sat down on the sofa, punched one of the cushions so it was softer, then curled up, drew the blanket up around her, and went to sleep.