CYRIL'S DISTURBED NIGHT
It was the scream that woke Cyril at oh-dark-hundred that night. Rachel had gone to sleep, and her sleep had been fretful for a time, but Cyril had eventually got used to her little cries and the twitching of her limbs, pulling away so as not to be caught by her flailing fists and kicking feet. He had gone to sleep after some time, exhausted by the day's events.
He sat up bolt upright as the scream-Rachel's scream-tore the silence of the night apart, and he fumbled for the light switch. He switched it on to see Rachel, drenched in sweat, sitting upright, her hands to her face and staring directly ahead. He reached out to touch her shoulder, then realised that that might not be the wisest course of action, and pulled his hand back before it could make contact.
"Rachel?" he said softly. She jerked her head around, and then relaxed as her eyes saw him and focused on him. She reached out, her hands finding his shoulders and rested her head on his chest. He tentatively, slowly, raised a hand to stroke her face and smooth down her hair. He had put a damp flannel by the bed, in case she awoke all hot and dry and itchy, and he picked it up and used it to wipe her sweat-slicked face and limbs. She took a deep breath.
"Cyril." she muttered.
"Rachel." He replied. Then in a different but still gentle tone of voice: "Rachel?" She looked up at him, her lips starting to form a reply, but then she stopped, just looking at him.
"Rachel, you remember me! You remembered my name and you spoke it!"
Rachel continued to look up at him, and then her lips stretched, and she gave a little smile. It was barely a lift of the corners of her mouth but it was a smile. Cyril felt like shouting out the news to everyone. Rachel had spoken, remembered him, and smiled! She was getting better!
Then Rachel's smile faltered, and Cyril saw her go pale. He hugged her closer. "Cyril." She said, her voice frightened. She opened her mouth to say something else, but then her eyelids fluttered shut and she sagged against him. Hurriedly, he lay her down, and felt her forehead. As he had suspected, her temperature was on the rise again. Nipping out to the bathroom, he got a bowl of tepid water and used it to moisten the flannel. Pulling back the covers, he wiped down her hot, dry skin. As he did, he noticed it was beginning to peel again. Underneath, the tender new skin had only the faintest hint of lilac. Cyril could only take this as a good sign as he gently tended his feverish wife.
The door banged open and Rachel twitched in his arms at the noise. It was Lu, looking extremely aggressive, teeth bared, red-edged eyes glaring at Rachel. Based on earlier events, and much speculation, Cyril could guess what had happened. Rachel's scream had awoken the little Lugia, who had come up to find out what the scream was. Due to the Shadow process, however, Lu was not looking to help, but spoiling for a fight!
"Lu, calm down, it's me, Cyril, your friend. Rachel is in no state to battle and neither am I, calm down, Lu, we are your friends, we are your friends!" Cyril desperately said, hoping that the Shadow process had not totally removed the concept of "friend" from Lu's mind. For a moment he thought Lu was going to attack, and rolled Rachel onto the bed, crouching over her protectively to shield her with his own body, bracing himself to bear the attack.
When it didn't come he turned his head, to see Lu, his head tucked low, obviously locked in an inner battle with himself. When he raised his head again and looked at Cyril, the red glow in his eyes had faded some: Lu's original good nature had overcome the aggression the Shadow process had instilled in him: at least for this time. Lu reached his head out sadly in a search for forgiveness: Cyril gave it equally wordless with a few caresses to Lu's head and face, and then Lu turned and went back downstairs to the bean bag he had chosen as his bed in Cyril's house that night. Cyril turned his attention back to Rachel, soothing her skin with the tepid water.
Another hour or two later, her skin seemed to be a better temperature, and she was sleeping peacefully. Cyril put aside the flannel, eased himself into the bed, turned out the light, and sank gratefully into sleep.
