Beyond the Horizon

25. Paranoia

It was early morning when Nezumi decided it was no longer safe to stay at his family's cabin.

          Three days had passed since he and Shion had taken up residence in his childhood home, and while Nezumi had been reveling in the fact that he and Shion could finally rest, paranoia gnawed at his stomach like a slow-killing parasite.

          The continuing silence around the cabin should have brought him relief, but instead, it made him uneasy. He had a difficult time getting to sleep at night, even after he and Shion exhausted hours wrapped up in each other, hands roaming, lips and teeth marking necks and shoulders. They clung to each other's warmth to stave off the creeping chill of reality, and as much as Nezumi wanted to stay cloistered in the secret, quiet world that existed within the circle of Shion's arms, he knew better than to believe it could keep them safe.

          The dream that he and Shion could run and hide somewhere far away was just that: a dream. Shion had smiled when Nezumi suggested it the morning after their make-up, but the smile didn't reach his eyes and his murmured responses had little conviction.

          They could run all they wanted, and maybe they could escape, but they would never achieve peace. The ghosts of Nezumi's family would not let him rest, and now Shion had his own shades to combat. Their hearts had been twisted out of shape by atrocity and there was no concept of normal anymore, only the inevitable truth: That life could not be lived until either Horizon Labs was destroyed, or they were.

          "We have to leave," Nezumi sighed as he walked into the bedroom. The little heater in the corner buzzed low and lonesome. "I thought we could stay here, but.... I don't think it's a good idea after all. Collect what you think we need to pack."

          Shion looked at Nezumi with the blank resignation of a prisoner and rose up from the bed without a word. He didn't ask where they were going to go or what the plan was, because they both knew there was nothing to tell.

          There were two duffle bags in his parents' bedroom closet, perhaps stored away with the hope that they might travel one day, when the danger had left them. Nezumi moved to pull them out, but Shion shot a glance at the closet and the door creaked open. The two bags levitated above the ground like dust motes and settled on top of the crumpled comforter.

          Shion had used his powers sparingly the last few days, only tackling small tasks that had little chance of going awry.

          "Good job," said Nezumi.

          "Thank you," murmured Shion.

          Blinding sunlight streamed in through the windows on the far side of the cabin. Melted icicles dripped down from the gutters and from the sloping roof. Nezumi focused outward, letting his Hands hover around the cabin, probing for threats and finding none.

          But that paranoia remained, fizzing electric in his veins.

          Shion pulled on his jacket and Nezumi's mother's wool-knit cap, a purple flower-studded craft she had made one long winter day when they were snowed in. Shion had found it in the closet and Nezumi had pressed him into taking it. He told Shion it was because it suited him—and it did—but the deeper truth was that he liked that his mother's memory would keep Shion warm. It felt a little like carrying around his parents' blessing, and so Nezumi chose to take his father's old scarf for himself.

          Nezumi shrugged into his leather jacket and wrapped the scarf around his throat, before tugging it loose again. He'd thoughtlessly bound it too tight.

          "Anything else you want to take?" asked Shion.

          "No. I think we've got everything."