Beyond the Horizon

37. Dreams and Nightmares

Shion dreamed of his mother's bakery.

          The scents of buttery croissants danced in his memories, the fresh snap of apples drifting around him. Shion had spent his entire life in the warmth and comfort of his mother's bakery, surrounded by pastries and the freedom to create.

          In his dreams, Shion helped his mother prepare a fresh loaf of bread before the bakery opened. She stood beside him, covered in flour, humming to herself as she kneaded the dough. Her dark hair was pulled back and held out of her face by her signature lilac bandanna.

          The memory of his mother made Shion's chest ache with a cocktail of sorrow and happiness. He missed her. He missed the simple days spent in the kitchen with her. The nights spent laughing as they closed up the bakery and went upstairs to cook dinner. The sleepovers with Safu and the thunderstorms that rattled the little living space Shion had known his whole life.

          He wondered how they were doing. He wondered if Horizon Labs had left them alone once Shion vanished along with Nezumi. Now that he'd been apprehended, there was no need to interrogate his mother and Safu any further. What little information they might have about him didn't mean anything now that Shion was kept behind invisible walls.

          Shion drifted awake to the memory of his mother's brilliant smile and her gentle fingers running through his hair. His vision blurred at the edges; a strange, itching sensation on his cheek startled him, and Shion realized that he'd been crying in his sleep.

          He eased slowly into a sitting position.

          His body ached, and Shion grimaced. It'd been a couple of days—he thought—since Lab Coat had performed his 'tests' on him. Shion's soul cried out at the memory of allowing himself to give Lab Coat the information he wanted, but he shoved it aside.

          He'd traded his soul for information on Nezumi's well-being.

          Lab Coat hadn't given him much. He'd informed him simply that Nezumi was alive and well. "He's a stubborn one," Lab Coat exhaled, labeling the vials of Shion's blood with a series of numbers and placing them carefully into sealed plastic bags. "But he's alive and unharmed."

          Nezumi. Shion leaned forward, wrapping his arms around his legs. He pressed his face into his knees, the fabric of his jumpsuit damp where his tears soaked in.

          His heart ached at the loss of his family. He missed his mother's warmth and Safu's support. He missed the freedom of the open sky and the sensation of grass beneath his feet. He even missed the cool snap of autumn sending goosebumps across his skin.

          And more than that, he missed Nezumi.

          He missed the glint of light in Nezumi's silver irises. The semi-permanent scowl plastered to his face and the frustrated huffs he'd make when something bothered him. The musical sound of his voice and the ability he had to change his tone at the drop of a hat. And he missed the comfort of Nezumi's arms around him. The sound of his laughter and the feeling of his hand fitted perfectly within Shion's own.

          Shion exhaled and wiped his eyes. Now wasn't the time to cry. He'd done plenty of that in the past few days.

          Now was the time for action.

          He lifted his head and stared into the dimly-lit room. His companions had fallen asleep, and Shion's memories of his life before confinement shook him awake. On her cot, Hitomi snuffled and rolled onto her side, deep in her own dreams.