Chapter Thirteen - Confines of Delusion
He didn't know why he did it but nonetheless he kept on sleeping. And when he slept, the dreams came and they frightened him in a way he'd never felt before. He was a Riskbreaker, they didn't feel fear but still he trembled when the dark voices called for him, their ghostly arms stretching out for him. He wanted to stop them but he knew it was already too late. He was on a path that had been laid before him and there was no turning back now. He had killed an innocent; to stop now would be foolhardy.
Ashley swung his feet from the bed, resting his soles upon the wooden floor, feeling the grain against his toes. Was this real? He reached over for the vest slung over a nearby chair, pulling it over his head. Rising, he looked into a full-length mirror, seeing his reflection set against a background of degradation. Instead of setting his hair into its usual state of wild zigzags arcing through the air, he plaited it, one running down each side of his face. It was a style he hadn't worn since...
A few minutes later he was walking through the front door of his apartment into an empty street. The dawn rays of light struck the cobblestones, their edges glimmering as his boots trudged downwards upon them, little splashes of morning dew soaking into his boots.
He had one more day to kill until the day he would kill. One more day of waiting and watching over her until he would snuff out her existence. It wasn't as if anyone would really miss her, she was pretty much a ghost in this reality. No, her death would be fairly inconsequential... there was the question of the woman she was with but he didn't pay much mind to that.
But still, he didn't want to see her dead. He didn't know quite why, when or how, but she had touched his heart in a way he just couldn't shake. Maybe he could kill her last? No, he had his reasons for this order, reasons that went back to...
He scaled the drainpipe, his thighs clasping tightly against its sides as he reached upwards to take grip again and again, pulling himself up. Was this real? He slung his arms over the edge onto the rooftop, swinging his legs after them. He got up into a crouch; making his way to the roofs apex, settling himself down upon it and drawing his knees close into himself. There he sat for an hour or two until she finally left to go to work. From his vantage point, he could see the disarray she carried herself in but that wasn't the worrying aspect of it. No, it was the aura she was emitting so fiercely that he didn't even have to try and see it. His own aura was purple, control flowing through him. Duke Bardorba's had been grey, passivity having overcome him. But Callo... Callo's was pitch black, pure despair running through her soul... Even those who didn't have the power to see such things managed to sense it. The streets were starting to become alive again and as the Inquisitor walked along, head drooping as she stared unseeingly at the path, everyone moved out of her way, repulsed by what was unknown and unclear to them.
He descended from the roof and walked in her wake, slipstreaming even though he was almost ten metres behind her. It was if they feared to tread where she had been, that they would be tainted by her soul if they did so.
This was his life as it now stood. A stalker; watching and waiting for his time to come, as it surely must. A loner; yearning for the bliss of solace, never to get it. A vagrant; wandering and wondering, never truly belonging to anything. That was his story... the vagrant story.
He looked through the slightly frosted window as she tired to settle herself at the overlarge wooden desk. Was this real? She randomly shuffled pieces of paper, trying to make sense of all that was in front of her, before slamming it all down on the desk, holding her head in her hands. Her body shook convulsively, the tears running down her face and staining the paper below. He reached out, his fingers brushing against the window, condensation soaking into the flesh. He traced the outline of her jaw bemusedly, wondering what on earth it was he was doing. Was this... love? No, he had no reason at all to feel this way. Things like this don't just spring up from the middle of nowhere. They had barely talked or even seen each other so how could he feel this way? It was ridiculous... he snatched his hand back, turning away from the window. This wasn't real...
He closed his eyes and cleared his mind, the static of his thoughts slowly dwindling away into nothingness. Silently he sought out reality, fighting his way back to consciousness. It was then he felt it; the warm breath on his lips, the gossamer sound of hair idly swinging reaching his ears, the knowledge she was there, right before him. He felt her arms loop around his neck, her thighs pressing against his, their lips brushing together...
He opened his eyes and saw her. It wasn't Callo... his heart opened up as he recognised her face, same as it had been all those years ago. The blonde hair perpetually tied in a bun, the flowing white dress clinging to the contours of her body, the simple necklace that dangled just above her cleavage. He savoured the scent of her breath, the touch of her skin, the depth of her eyes. This was is wife, the mother of his child...
"I've missed you so..." she whispered huskily into his ear, the timbre of her voice staining him indelibly. His hands gently caressed her face, feeling once more the shape he had known for so long.
"I've missed you too Callo..."
No sooner had the words slipped from his tongue did she metamorphose into the VKP beauty. She kissed him passionately, fervently, and he found himself replying in kind, lost in the moment. She broke off, holding him at arms length, her brown eyes staring into his soul. Was this real? Suddenly, her whole body jerked, her head flying backwards. Slowly it came back to its previous position, staring at him, shock dancing in her irises. She fell from his desperately clutching grasp, his eyes following her as she turned, revealing the arrowgun shaft protruding from her back. He fell to his knees, staring at her, only to look up when he heard the voice.
"I had to kill her, it was my duty..."
There stood Ashley Riot, VKP Infantryman, arrowgun in his hand hanging loosely by his side. "But she was an innocent, had committed no crime... why did I have to kill her?"
The shade looked over his shoulder, as if listening to someone behind him. "But she had done nothing wrong Jan! Is this what the VKP has been reduced to? Murdering innocent women!"
Again a pause before the shade's gaze returned to the corpse lying before him.
"No, this was wrong Rosencrantz... I shouldn't have done this..." Looking up, the shade stared directly at the real Ashley Riot. "We shouldn't have done this."
Like mist in the wind, the corpse and the shade faded away leaving only the Riskbreaker, down on his knees crying, the mid-morning dew soaking his knees. Was this real?
Ashley sat up in bed, facing the window. Darkness poured through as the moon glimmered effervescently.
"Is this real?"
