A languid feeling stole over him, soporific and somehow terrifying; fighting it, he looked around at the crew on duty in the Control Room, wondering how he had come to be there, when he was supposed to be in Sick Bay…
The crew on watch were slumped over their stations oblivious… The two sailors at the helm draped over their controls, and the COB at his station behind them had pitched forward over one of their seats. Briggs, at radar, lay face up on the radar screen, eyes wide and sightless, dull in death, his throat ripped out. Ski slumped over the sonar screen, bleeding and unconscious.
A strange foreboding fear gripped Chip as he noted station after station unmanned, but lethargy held him in place as the shadows shifted, drawing closer. He could feel eyes watching him, stabbing him like a butterfly on a pin, wings weakly fluttering. Powerless to move, he watched, fascinated, almost hypnotized as the shadows moved closer…
"Sir."
He vaguely recognized the voice. But Yeoman Allbright was eight months dead, his fault, no matter how the situation was dissected. She couldn't be speaking to him now…
"Sir, you have to wake up."
He blinked, confused when she stepped in front of him, her form bright but indistinct; surely her hair had been brown, and not this bright golden halo that drove the shadows back?
"Sir, please you need to wake up." Her voice insisted, a respectful murmur, and her hesitant touch on his arm was cold. The shadows were advancing again, dimming her outline; her form seemed to dwindle, but her voice strengthened into an unexpected edge of command. "You have to wake up, NOW!"
Chip jerked awake, hearing the echo of Yeoman Allbright's voice as it lingered in the air. His heart beat wildly, and for a moment he struggled to breath as the dream dissipated. Putting out a shaky hand, he gripped the arm of his chair tightly and sent up a silent prayer of gratitude that the shadows had receded…
Odd to be dreaming of Miss Allbright now. He tried to remember what she had said in the dream, but all that came to him was the sense of languid terror roused by shadows and the relief and gratitude associated with Miss Allbright's fading image…
He rose from the chair, and looked around Sick Bay, wondering guiltily how long he'd been asleep. Patterson tossed and turned in some harrowing dream; Ski lay quietly, still pale as a ghost, though his breathing seemed easier. A sign that he was getting better, perhaps? John, too, was awake, his eyes dilated in the darkness. "You should be in bed, sir," he said softly.
Chip shook his head and paced around the room, restless and inexplicably uneasy. Something was wrong. He couldn't put his finger on it, but the atmosphere jangled with tension, stringing his nerves tight. A heightened air of danger pressed down heavily, a tangible presence in the space. He glanced toward the glass-paneled windows of Will's office and frowned when he didn't see the doctor. "Where's Will?" He almost barked the words at John, suddenly realizing what his own inability to stay awake might have cost them.
John sat up gingerly, and looked toward the office as well. His eyes widened, and his face paled. "I don't know. He was working. Then I fell asleep…" He paused, then spread his hands helplessly. "I don't know, sir…"
Find Will. The imperative jolted through every nerve. Chip strode for the door.
*Unable to have the one she desperately wanted, she had turned to the second man, the fair-haired one, so reminiscent of the Scandinavians that had frequented her father's shop. But he, too, had been protected. She had been inclined to be contemptuous of the woman who stared her down, but spirits were powerful, and this one was no exception…
She held her prey closer as she fed, feeling him shudder in shock and horror. His blood was warm against her skin, hot and spicy in her throat. She was surprised that he struggled against her. She hadn't thought that he would have the strength. Gently, she caressed his skin with cold fingers. She could be gentle when she chose, but there was no doubt that feeding was messy… She had tried not to damage this one, as she had the one she'd killed…
She could not admit except to herself that she was afraid of the spirit protectors this crew of men had… The older man who had looked so like her brother as well had an authoritative air that frightened her. He reminded her a little of her father, though he had not had the same cruel set to his lips. She thought he would have been a formidable man, when he was living. He was even more formidable now, staring her down with that arched eyebrow and the stony glare. She had kept away from the man who reminded her so strongly of her brother.
She had thought the woman a pale, weak spirit, unable to protect her charge, but she had underestimated the spirit. That woman had blazed with a light that had threatened to chase away the shadows that protected her. She had had no choice but to retreat… Light did not injure her, but it terrified her; light could reveal all her flaws, all her most secret sins. She hated the light… And so she had turned away from the woman with the soft voice and the beautiful eyes, who had protected the cold, fair Scandinavian she had sought.
Her luck, then, that she had found this one, who had no protector. She tightened her grip on him, as he shifted against her embrace. She didn't want to kill. She told herself that, but she wasn't sure that she believed it. She had killed the other one. She had even felt a sharp thrill when his heart had ceased to beat. It had made her feel powerful. Perhaps if she killed more, she would eventually become more powerful than the spirits who protected her most dangerous enemies…
Shuddering she lifted her head. She had not wanted to kill. It had been her intention to prove that she didn't have to. But she had been unable to stop… She had ripped his throat out with her teeth and hungrily, ravenously drank the blood that spurted from his arteries and veins. All the warm, lovely blood…
She dropped her prey and retreated, hating herself. She should not want to kill. These people had done nothing to her. What sort of animal was she? With a howl of despair, she hid her face in her hands…
*Signifies a scene change