Aha! More in our captivating tale. A tale in which I own none of the characters – Takahashi-san does. And a tale through which I am making no money. ;; XD OK, then, onward…
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Malik shivered in his sleep. He had gone to bed very late, deciding to essentially give up on his English essay. Maybe he would finish it when he woke up the next morning. Maybe not.
At the moment, though, school assignments were the last things on his mind. After falling into bed, he had been overtaken by fitful sleep, a sleep that was now caught in nightmare.
He was underground again, surrounded by stone. It was the night before the initiation was to take place. Malik knew he would need his strength in the morning, but he also knew there was no way in hell he was going to be able to fall asleep.
Gods, help me. Wrapping his blanket tighter around himself, he turned on his side, staring into the darkness and trying not to cry. There was no way out. He did not want to do this, but there was no way he could avoid it. Even Rishid had returned from his father's study tight-lipped, shaking his head. There was no one who could undergo the initiation for him.
In the dream he squeezed his eyes shut; he opened them only to find himself flanked by two silent guards, ready to escort him to the ceremonial chamber. He tried to fight when they gripped his arms, twisting and squirming in an effort to break away. But the men were so much stronger than he was, and panic began to rise in his throat as he was dragged down the hall.
"Rishid! Rishid!" It was his last chance before he entered the chamber. "Please!" he shrieked desperately. "Help me! Rishid!" But Rishid would not look at him.
The heavy door shut behind him now, and Malik could feel his limbs trembling. He couldn't help it. He tried to calm himself, to steel himself for what was ahead, but his breathing was ragged and shaky. One of the shadowed figures stepped forward toward him. "Father…"
His father spoke, but the words did not seem to be directed to his son. "Malik Ishtar. Have you prepared yourself for the sacred duty you are about to accept?"
"Father," he said tearfully, "Father, please." But his voice was small – he was small – and they were so much bigger, so much stronger. He felt dizzy and hot. The stone was cold and sudden beneath his chest, and he became vaguely aware of the chanting above him…
"The chosen will carry this burden onward, father to son, and son to his own. And the signs will continue this way, through the generations, until the Pharaoh's return…"
"Father, please," Malik choked out. "Please stop…" he whispered weakly. He felt his father's hands on his back, then, hard and cold on his shoulders, pinning him to the stone slab.
"Malik!" Ishtar hissed through clenched teeth, and Malik knew he should say no more. The chanting continued, and Malik felt his father's eyes burning into him as the next words were spoken:
"…To he who refuses this burden, may he be cast out. May the Gods tear his mind asunder, may the jackals tear his flesh to bits. As it is written, so may he be judged…"
And then the pain began. Even in his dream, Malik felt the pain as if it were really happening all over again. His hand wound itself into a fist in his sheets, and his jaw clenched so hard it began to ache. In his dream, Malik was screaming.
Gods… The pain was too much to take. He would die. He would die either way, either here and now, or later when the gods damned him for his resistance. He wanted to throw up but couldn't.
A rushing sound was building in his head. At first he thought it was the sound of his own blood in his ears, but the noise seemed to be rearranging itself into words. It's too late, now, Malik, a phantom voice said silkily.
Shut up, he thought, sick with pain and tears. Shut up, shut up, shut up…
Shhh…Give in…I'll carry the pain…you're too small. What were they thinking? So small…so much blood…such delicious blood, delicious screams, delicious hate. Another arc of the knife made Malik twist in agony. …pretty blood, pretty hate…so small, so helpless, so easy to cut easy to break easy to give in…give in give in hate and blood blood and hate….
And suddenly in his dream, all went dark.
Malik awoke to the sound of pounding on his door. "Malik! Malik, are you awake?" It was Isis.
Fucking hell… "Yes?" he said, but his voice was raspy and caught in his throat. He swallowed and tried again. "Yes?"
"Get out of bed, Malik. You're going to be late for school."
Malik grunted in response. After a minute or two he pushed his covers aside and sat up. Gods, this headache was killing him. He glanced at the clock on his bedside table. 7:53 a.m.. Great. Guess that stupid English paper isn't getting done. He sighed and started to get dressed, trying to leave his nightmares behind.
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"Hey, Rishid. Anything new?" Hiroto Honda leaned on the counter behind him, stirring the sugar into his coffee.
Rishid looked up, smiling slightly upon seeing the other man with the coffee in hand. He rarely saw Honda without a cup of coffee – the young man had a real caffeine dependency. If Honda was empty handed, he had either just finished a cup of the dark brew or was on his way to get another. "Nothing really," Rishid lied.
Honda nodded. "I know what you mean. Sumeragi seems to think we may have a lead with the Bakura boy, but I'm not sure if that'll get us anywhere."
Rishid shook his head, trying to choose his words carefully. "Personally, I really don't think it's him. Something about the profile just doesn't seem right to me…" He felt awful letting any trace of suspicion fall on Bakura Ryou, but there was also no way he was going to turn in his own brother. At the same time, though, Rishid had no idea what he was going to do next. He had yet to confront Malik directly, and he really didn't want to drag Isis into this. This isn't her problem. I'm the one who's supposed to be taking care of Malik, really. But it looks like I've failed…
"Well," Honda continued, "if you have any ideas you'd better let the captain know. Sumeragi's hell-bent on getting the boy in here for questioning."
"What?"
"I heard something about them bringing him in here this afternoon."
Honda watched in amazement as the lieutenant in front of him stood up so quickly his chair nearly toppled over. Muttering a hurried apology, Rishid grabbed his jacket and strode toward the door without a backwards glance.
"Rishid? Lieutenant! Where are you going?"
But he was already gone.
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Gracious! Such excitement! Hopefully I'll have another chapter up very soon…