Kendall had been the one to arrive the way a bird does in the early morning, down into the lobby during all the commotion. Colorful in his deep red and gold, loud and excited, as if the storm had never happened. For Kendall, just like the fowl of a new day, lives in the moment rather than dwelling on the past or hoping for a better future.
He insists, "It's awfully late and I know everything in you is screaming that now is the time for action and it very well might be. Still, from a teacher's perspective and from that of a person you can call family, I should remind you; You three have just endured a trauma. One of the most harrowing experiences a high school student could possibly have. I, nor Detective Garcia, believe you three should have to stress anymore than you already have too.
"The three of you are alive and you're together. Nothing else, as of now, is of your concern. Please. Healing is already such a long process. The sun doesn't rise for a few more hours but this new day has already started so use the time you've got now to start that lengthy process. Shower, sleep, and when you wake up there will be coffee or tea, breakfast waiting downstairs, and a car to take us to the air port. Tomorrow is a big day... please." He steps aside with his left hand angled towards the staircase leading up.
There a room is waiting, the old woman has gone to bed, and the fire is but embers. The tile of the floor may have gone cold but the sheets are still very much warm and Ander knows his fever has broken the moment his clothes are off and he's pulling the quilt up to his shoulders. He passes a breath in through his nose and sighs before pressing his face into the pillow.
A soft glow rests in the windowsill where a cushion surface is built that an individual or two could press their bodies against the glass to read or drink hot tea with matching pillows of that same azule blue Guzman's got wrapped around his waist as he brushes his teeth with the designated brush. Polo hops up there on the window sill and pulls only his shirt off leaving the black sweat pants so that his anxious fingers can play with the white drawstring tying and untying it as he watch powder drift off the ever greens every time a red bird flutters jumps from branch to branch.
Guzman spits into the sink and then rinses his mouth out with warm water pulling the second blue towel from the shelf to wipe his plump lips. He steps out into the soft light and walks up to Polo standing there allowing the light that's bouncing off Polo to reflect onto his chest. Polo looks over at the broad pecks and the belly button that has a small, blonde, happy trail leading past the fabric of the towel to a world of the unknown.
Polo looks away. Feeling inappropriate. Then Guzman sits down opposite of Polo and presses his back into the other wall that he may cross his legs and look out the window too. They stare silently out at a world of that silver glint and wait for the blue to break through for a new day as their friend sleeps peacefully next to them on the giant king sized mattress they all should share.
"Polo we should get some sleep." Says Guzman.
Polo shakes his head, "I don't want to keep chasing ghosts."
"Then I'll hold you down." An eyebrow raises. Thoughts pass through both their minds. It clocks. Guzman is saying, in the most guy-ish way possible, that he wants to wrap himself into Polo and sleep until someone forces them apart.
So Polo nods and slumps off the cushioned sill pulling off his sweatpants before dragging himself across the floor, through the soft fabric of he carpet surround the frame, and up over Ander into the ocean of sheets and pillows. There he waited for the warmth that is Guzman to curl up into the sheets with him. Hairy legs against hairy legs, pelvis to pelvis, thick arms drape over and press into tiny torsos and veins bubble up underneath flesh as long fingers trace them in lines. Slowly, and easily, Polo and Guzman fall asleep.
In his sleep, Ander is haunted. Not by ghosts but by heat. White hot heat. The smell of gas. In this dream he stands in a classroom where tiles from the floor are missing and beneath them is liquid hot magma. A young girl's shadow rests on one of the desks and sitting in a car is Valerio screaming behind the wheel. The final embers of the fire burning in the chimney by the bed in which he sleeps dies and so does the awful nightmare for a vision of the colors grey, blue, and white come and go through the deep abyss of unconsciousness.
A shiny black shoe presses hard into a door and it comes swinging open. The corridor before the owner of that shoe is dark aside from the light of the moon above his shoulder that illuminates only the first three feet in front of him and the box radio machine swaying from the ceiling on a draw string. The note reads; Play Me.
Gloved hands reach up and wrap delicately around the device and a thumb presses that all too familiar button; "Hello Detective Garcia, I see you got my message." His badge catches the glint of the moon as he walks in through the open cavity and just as his feet reach the carpet where the light no longer shines his worrisome face is swallowed by the darkness for the door just swung shut.
"Always got to be the hero..." The eerie voice trails away with the screams coming from somewhere deep inside the facility. Our Jigsaw Copy cat has been very busy and of course Carlos Garcia would arrive alone.