Silence

Chapter Eight - Even Floating has its Limits

"I no longer knew what was real and what wasn't. The lines between reality and delusion had become so blurred." – A. B. Shepherd, The Beacon

Chapter Eight – Even Floating has its Limits

Karen leaned down so her lips hovered beside Jaron's ear.

"I'll give you a good piece of advice, Mr. Pierce. Don't ever lie to me again." She withdrew, tapping his nose with one finger as she did so.

"You know all too well, what I'm capable of."

She began to walk towards the door.

Jaron, who had been frozen with fear, finally spoke. "What about me? What happens now? You got your questions answered."

"We'll drop you off somewhere near home. You don't mind a bit of walking, do you?" When Jaron didn't respond, she continued, her tone darkening. "But don't expect this to be the last time we meet. There's still so much we have to learn, Jaron, and this is only the beginning."

Karen slipped out of the room and slid the door closed behind her.

"Wait!" he called out, jumping out of his seat. "You still haven't told me what all of this is for."

After struggling with the handcuffs for a few minutes and realising he wasn't making any difference, Jaron slumped to the floor in defeat. He rested his head against one of the table legs, letting his mind slip into an out of focus type state.

With only the rumbling of the engine to keep him company, at some point Jaron must have fallen asleep, because he suddenly found himself sprawled on the floor, waking up.

He didn't bother getting to his feet; there wasn't really anywhere he could go. His eyes trailed the ceiling, following the patterns of the shadows, but they soon grew tired of the same harsh lines and shades of grey.

In an attempt to pass the time, Jaron chose to focus on the soft in-out puffs of his breath. In. Out. In. Out.

The more he focused, the less he felt he had to, like the quiet draft was slowly reeling him in.

Time hesitated. The gaps between breaths were drawn out, and the breaths themselves lasted a lifetime. His chest rose and fell with the gusto of ocean waves on a still day.

And yet, however gradual time was becoming, the magnetism of the sound of his breath grew stronger with each inhale-exhale pattern. He could still feel his back pressed into the floor, but if he had to describe what it felt like to be a molecule of air, riding the jet stream that shot in and out of his mouth, Jaron had confidence he could do so with the utmost of accuracy.

Jaron had never had an out-of-body experience before, but he assumed it was something along the lines of how he felt at the present moment. Each breath marked another footstep closer to air particle and away from human boy.

The sound was captivating. Enthralling. It was all he could focus on. Jaron wouldn't have been surprised if he was inhaling anaesthetic from the air in the van, losing feeling in his body, his senses slowly ebbing away, losing control. If someone had asked him to lift his hand, or even just blink, firstly he probably wouldn't have heard, what with the sound of air rushing in and out of his lungs clouding over his brain, but he didn't really feel like he belonged in his body anymore. Jaron could have truly believed that he was just a parasite that had temporarily had a hold over someone else's limbs, and now just draining away, to float with the oxygen once more.