I would like to thank all of you who have reviewed, favorited, or followed this story, as well as those of you who have silently kept up with it! I know it's not easy waiting months for an update—especially for such short chapters—but I really appreciate it!
The following chapter contains some material on a sensitive topic.
I do not own Hellsing.
Please read, review, and enjoy! : )
Amelia stared at the broad slab in front of her, recognizing it by shape alone: a marker in a garden of stone. It seemed to glow a cold grey alongside the others, pale decorations dotting a dark patch of land.
The sky, fading from a deep blue, promised dawn. Damp grass pressed against the left side of her body, providing cushioning without comfort.
For a while, she believed the grave in front of her was her father's, presented not as it truly was but as her imagination constructed, and she settled into something between misery and peace. But as the minutes ticked past and her tired eyes squinted at the stone, she came to realize that she could not make out an inscription. She raised her head from the ground and reached forward, skimming her hand across the weathered surface a couple of times and finding no indentations or grooves to indicate the stone had ever been marked.
A gentle breeze was enough to make the moisture on her skin freeze like ice, and she raised herself into a sitting position, smearing the water across her cheek and arm until she thought she had rubbed it away.
For the first time she twisted around, turning 180 degrees to see how far the morbid pasture stretched. But there were no tombstones behind her. The grassy terrain reached on, wild and tall, for perhaps four meters, before dropping away suddenly to make way for the view of a harbor. The buildings lining the water were dark, as were most of the residences climbing the sharply sloping land and sprawling beyond them.
She could not be certain of her location, but it reminded her of England. The thought made her chest ache for something familiar to set her eyes upon.
Amelia pushed herself onto her feet and stepped towards the harbor, wrapping her arms around her torso in defense against the chill. She came to a stop a couple of paces from the precipice, curling her toes around the grass. The breeze strengthened momentarily, and she braced herself until it died down.
Her heart hammered behind bone, the sound flooding her ears as she brought her left foot away from the ground, inching it forward. The tombstones stood at her back, blank faces watching as she tilted her head at the dark shapes below, her left foot creeping towards the drop.
It's just a dream, a voice like hers whispered soothingly from the back of her mind. Go on. It's just a dream. Like playing pretend. Her right foot slipped through the grass, following the left. It's just a dream.
Beneath her, the ground shifted slightly, sinking, and she became very still. She shut her eyes, and it was as if every other sense was lost with her sight. Her legs shook, and she felt off-balance; was she still facing the harbor? She couldn't tell if she heard the wind in her ears, every short breath that left her mouth, or nothing at all.
And she stood. And waited.
And waited a little longer.
Eventually she opened her eyes and looked down, tears pricking in the corners from the cold. Through the blur she saw her feet perched on the edge as long blades of grass scratched at the back of her pale shins. A small wave of vertigo came and went.
The earth did not give way under her weight, even as she waited longer still.
It's just a dream, reasoned the voice in her head, more firm than before and just a little frustrated. When she continued to stare at the rooftops below, it loosened its restraint. You can't take that step, can you? You want the ledge to make the last move… You can't even do anything in a dream!
"I can!" She argued with the voice aloud.
Will you?
"I can." It came out much quieter the second time.
No. No, you can't. You won't. The reply was definite, and just as soft: it was the sound of someone leaving.
Amelia took a step back. "I can," she muttered.
The voice was silent.
"I can."
Nothing.
Bending over, she grabbed a handful of grass and tugged, pulling up a clump of soil with it. With a strangled cry she threw the load over the ledge, quickly losing sight of it as it flew into the harbor. In a matter of seconds, a second fistful followed.
"I can!" A barrage of grunts and unintelligible shouts shattered the early morning calm, accompanied by a rain of grass, weeds, and dirt on the roofs below. Whether or not anyone noticed, no one seemed to care. Windows remained dark, doors were kept shut, and those who were awake made certain that they went unseen.
When Amelia ran out of air in her lungs her fit came to an end, and she landed unceremoniously on her backside on the green and brown patchwork she had created, her hands and feet covered in dirt and her throat in need of a soothing drink. She wiped her eyes on the short sleeves of her smock, gasping for breath.
The horizon was brightening, swaths of golden light cutting through the blue sky and drifting clouds to announce the sunrise. The water shone with a dull light, rushing steadily against the shore like white noise.
A shiver ran through Amelia as she watched the breeze snatch the faint shape of her breath from in front of her. Ignoring the mess on her hands, she wrapped her arms around herself as the chill returned.
The harbor lit up with the sun, black buildings turning to brick, blue walls warming to yellow and white, and brown to red. She still did not recognize the location. Perhaps it was only a fantasy?
She reclined fully, grass tickling the back of her neck and ears. Her eyelids felt heavy as she watched the sky shift above her, waiting for the moment when the endless turned into white walls.
"Made it through the night," she sighed quietly, neither relieved nor remorseful. "Just one night."
The ground held firm beneath her.
"Is Schrödinger keeping watch?" Doc asked as the Captain stepped into the room, receiving a single nod in reply.
"Is she sleeping?" Another nod.
"I've been looking at the data from her chip," he began, wasting no time in getting straight to the point. "Specifically that collected during the hours she's reportedly sleeping." He pulled up a number of screens on the computer, alternating between them so that the Captain could get a glimpse of each, despite the fact that the information displayed was outside the man's area of expertise. "This is her heart rate, respiration…" He listed several more before stopping on a screen.
"Here." He stabbed a finger at the monitor. "Brain activity when she's asleep. I'd need a more thorough analysis and equipment…" The doctor caught himself straying and cleared his throat.
"This is during REM sleep…" His finger trailed across the screen.
"And this…" He leaned aside for the Captain to get a better look, restraining a smile. "It looks similar, doesn't it? She's still asleep, but this is not REM sleep. I've reviewed the corresponding data during this period." A number of browsers flashed open, too fast to read. The doctor seemed incapable of keeping his hands still.
"Something is happening here, and my books, my resources cannot tell me what it is. It's happened multiple times now; only when she is reportedly unconscious."
He swiveled around in his chair so that he was fully facing his superior. Leaning to one side, he rested an elbow on the chair's arm, as if the weight of his thoughts was burdensome.
"Moving forward…" His speech slowed, his excitement dimming until he wore a contemplative frown. "Moving forward, I think it would be wise to visually monitor Miss Harker while she sleeps. I don't want to make any assumptions, but her family's medical history is not spotless, and it is possible that her data points to neurological disorders, diseases—aside from the anxiety we've already seen."
The Captain cut in with a set of gestures.
"I imagine the experience is somewhat traumatic," mused the doctor, straightening and crossing his arms. His fingers tapped a rapid beat on his sleeves. "I'll make note of it in the records. Let me know if you see anything else." He rolled in the chair a few paces to his right, reaching for the closest pen and using it to scribble something on the corner of a report.
After a moment the doctor spoke again. "We're going to have to find a way to deal with this," he murmured. Finishing his note, he tapped the end of the pen on the document, emphasizing what he had written. "Sooner rather than later, I think."
The Captain made a short sign.
"You were there when she had the fever, when she woke up from the anesthesia… The drugs I've administered haven't been as effective as they should have been, and I don't want to give her consecutive overdoses; they might do more harm than good. She's worth more alive and fully-functioning..." He dropped the pen and pulled off his spectacles, rubbing a hand over his eyes in hopes of wiping away the bags beneath them.
"We don't have to talk about this now. I need to look in on the brothers…" With a sigh, he replaced the glasses on the bridge of his nose. "… See if that one is still fit to perform adequately."
He pushed himself out of his chair. "Make sure you let the others know what's going on. I'll send it out in the weekly report, too."
On his way out of the room he paused to watch the Captain.
"Cameras…? No, I'd prefer for someone to be in the room with her while she sleeps. We also need to rearrange the schedule so that the brothers are always under observation—particularly the younger one."
The white-haired man took a couple of steps in his direction and signed, giving him a pointed stare.
"I will rest after I do this. I'll speak with you later." With a noncommittal wave the doctor retreated, the corners of his mouth drawn down into a grimace.
"Rest? Who has time to rest? Decades of patiently waiting and now you're all sprinting towards the finish."