AN: Oh, wow. How long has it been? Major apologies for the delay- I thought I'd get this done over Spring Break, but I spent that week on mid-term projects.
This chapter, unfortunately, had to be broken down again. This piece is particularly short but I didn't want you all to think I had given up the story.
Since school and work have so eaten away my time, I did actually consider just stopping altogether until summer so that I could better map out the story before writing any more. I decided against that because I probably would not have come back to it and I really want to finish it. So... please bare with me.
Once again the plot is about to thicken and we'll learn what Jarod has really been up to all this time... well, we'll find out in the next part, anyway.
Ace of Black Heart: Thank you so much. I hope you'll like this next installment.
LJP: It's been awhile since Tourniquet, I know, but the terror of Cell 6 lies within the prequel to Ashes. Don't despair about J and MP, they'll be back in force and forced together soon. Jarod resurfaces in this chapter. As far JMPR, we'll just have to see. And this may or may not be an LM fic. As for Mia, she still lacks memory of the majority of the happenings in Tourniquet, as well as understanding. Her fear of Cox is explored more in this chapter; it's easier for her to stand up to Lyle as she is at least somewhat familiar with him. Also, she probably realizes that she has some power over him due to the rather strange way he legalized their marriage and his subsequent reaction to her finding out about it.
Whashaza: Thank you, thank you. :)
KoolKaz: Lyle and Mia want to know the same thing you do...
NYT: Thanks, I'm glad you liked the line- I'm trying to stay away from cliches as much as possible and that's the only thing I could up with. lol. Oh, and I owe you a reply email which I will get onto ASAP.
To Rem-Cycle: I'm not sure if you've had much time to do any reading or writing, but just in case- yes, I think you should do some more writing and post it or at least send it to me. Lol. Will email you ASAP.
Many thanks to my readers and reviewers. Please continue to let me know what you think about Ashes.
Chapter 16: Darkness Falls- Part I
"Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the darkness fall." - J.R.R. Tolkien
The world was gray and cold. She listened to the silence that permeated the atmosphere. She could see nothing but the gray and feel nothing but the metallic coldness around her. A numbness encased all of her senses, giving her the peculiar sensation of being trapped in a dream bubble or perhaps paralysis. Yes, perhaps this what it was like to be completely paralyzed, deaf, and dumb.
Then suddenly the bubble burst and fell away.
It was night still; the heavenly lights obscured by manmade ones that filled the city's skyline. The air was chilled and light breeze froze the atmosphere further. She found herself crouched on the roof of a large, wide building resembling a warehouse. Her consciousness did not comprehend how she got there or why, but the subconscious did and it threw her body into motion.
As she crept along the perimeter of the roof, a sharp crackle tickled her ear and an unfamiliar voice filled her head.
"Move to your first position."
The coldness of the air increased as she kicked her pace up to a run.
"First team is in the target zone."
Thoroughly befuddled, her consciousness wailed for an explanation, but the subconscious, aggressively focused on its mission, paid it no heed.
"You're clear, Retrieval. Move to your second position."
Her body secured itself to a system of ropes and pulleys and lowered itself through an unprotected sector of the roof. She dropped down through the ceiling and landed in front of four very surprised men standing guard over a large steel wall panel. Within a matter of seconds a gun was in her hand, pulled from a discreet pocket, and unloaded into the guards. Once at the wall panel, her fingers flew over the computer pad entering a numerical sequence into the control panel. It did not work.
"Control, they changed the entry code!" Her voice sounded strange to her; dark and deep, not at all hers.
"Fine," came the crisp, cool response. "Jack us in."
A few heart-stopping moments passed before the voice spoke again. "Now try."
Upon entering the code this time, a small concealed compartment revealed itself and presented three discs to her.
"Got 'em!"
"Possession achieved," the voice confirmed. "Evacuate and Eliminate."
Light suddenly lit the area temporarily blinding her. When her vision cleared, she saw that she was no longer alone.
"Retrieval?" the cool voice now sounded concerned.
"I'm surrounded! In need of immediate egress!"
"Styx," the voice called. "Retrieval's under fire!"
She tried to run to, to save herself, but there were too many of them to flee. The last thing she saw was a petite, lithe figure enter the building. Her jet black hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail. Obsidian eyes glimmering cryptically at her.
"They've got her," Styx reported unconcerned. "Retrieval's gone gray."
That was all there ever was to the memory which replayed in her mind over and over again no matter whether she was asleep or awake. Amelia pulled herself into a sitting position on the bed. Though drenched in sweat, she still felt chilled and pulled the bed cover tight around her. Leaning the back of her head against the headboard, she closed her eyes and tried to calm her breathing, but the moment her lids closed the images returned.
Something had gone terribly wrong during that session with Cox. Never before had she returned from a session with him and retained any memory of what had occurred, but this time she did.
She would give anything to go back to not remembering.
While she could not recall what happened before or after the events in the new nightmare, she did recall two things distinctly: Cox's cold, blue flame eyes and the one called Styx.
Her vision of Styx was brief, but lasting. Those condescending, scornful black eyes were the eyes of Gogo. Amelia knew that regardless of what state of mind she had been in during the events of the memory, she was not confused on the identity of Styx.
But why? Why? Why? Why? Why?
She growled in frustration. I hate her! I hate her! I hate this! I hate feeling like this. I hate not knowing, not remembering.
She made the mistake of closing her eyes again. Another pair of frightening eyes invaded her mind- the eyes that filled her with unspeakable terror; the eyes from the first repeating nightmare.
Unbidden that dream came flooding back.
Two men stood on either side of her. The one breathing on her was tall and menacing and pulled something along behind him. She could not make out the features of his face. The one that held her so fiercely, too, was tall and dressed in lavish clothes all in black. His face was also indistinguishable though he was only inches away. All that was exposed was his eyes- his supercharged eyes of azure flames were such eyes that could bore through a person's soul; eyes that could kill.
The eyes crinkled into a sinister smile as the door opened.
The breath of fire moved away from her throat and moved ahead of her through the door, dragging its ball and chain behind it.
The hand of the eyes that held her released her briefly only to clutch her arm tightly as it prepared to escort her through the door.
Beyond the door was the heart of the malefic- a chamber from a gothic horror. It was into that nightmare they entered.
The Requiem for the Dead played on.
As the altar neared, she wished for all sorts of cataclysm to halt the terror she was about to be sacrificed to. But none came and she wished for death.
At the dais, stood a woman dressed in crimson robes. Her face was obscured by darkness; only impeccably manicured nails on olive hands were visible.
Another figure stood on the woman's left facing her... the groom!
Nausea crashed over her relentlessly.
The man before her turned as the killer eyes gave her hand to him. Perhaps more terrifying than being gifted to a stranger was being gifted to one without a face. She tried to scream, but her voice was gone- stolen by fear...
She shivered violently, yet threw off the blankets and jumped off the bed as though that might somehow rid her of Cox's eyes. Nausea's warm tide laundered over her. Steadying herself against the dresser, she waited until the sick feeling passed before turning her thoughts to another matter.
His side of the bed was empty. Again. In fact, it was most always empty. On a few occasions, he would go to bed with her, but she had yet to wake up with him next to her.
She sighed despondently, and wondered morosely if it would matter to anyone if she just disappeared. Would he care? Or just find someone else to replace her.
The Centre would care.
But she was not so sure she cared if they did or not.
How hard would it be to disappear for good?
Her escape planning was interrupted by another disturbing recurrence- the soul-wrenching cries that seemingly came from behind the walls. Five out of seven nights every week she heard it for hours on end. Instinctively, she clamped her hands over her ears to shut out the plaintive bleating that she could not bare to hear.
Stop it! Stop it! Stop it! I must be losing my mind!
The wails grew louder and louder until they sounded like they were right in front of her. It took her several minutes to realize that it was her own sobs that had amplified the mourning.
Drawing in a shaky breath, she forced herself to stop crying and wiped away the tears that had fallen.
Once collected, she resumed the same search that she carried on every night of the cries. But this time like every time before, her head was too muddled and she was too exhausted to search properly that she could find no source for the weeping. So she huddled against the side wall of the bedroom closet with her head against the cool drywall, listening to the agony that racked some desperate soul.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry. She rocked herself back and forth, seeking some form of comfort. I'm sorry. Forgive me for not being able to find you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
In time the bawling ceased and her frayed mind quieted. Sleep weighed heavily on her lids and she attempted to drag herself to the bed. However, the nausea returned as soon as she stood and she was afraid she might actually be sick. Instead of going to the bathroom, she stumbled into the kitchen in search of a medication that might end the desire to retch. She choose an antacid and while removing it from the cabinet, absently picked up a matchbook that was careless left in the wrong spot.
Turning toward the living room with the intent of waiting to see at what hour her husband decided to come home, Amelia, still clutching the matchbook, passed by the sofa table and knocked a packet of papers off of the corner.
Gingerly, she picked them up and carried them over to the couch. Still fighting the nausea that the antacid had not helped, she tried to focus on the content of the papers in her hand. Her countenance darkened considerably once her brain began to process the meaning of the document in her hand. Her thumbnail dug into the covering of the matchbook.
In a moment her gray eyes where illuminated by the blazing head of the match as its fire consumed the paper fibers, eradicating the document from existence.