Ghost

The Night is an Ocean - Winter Aid

He stood on the cold tile, feeling little better than a broken teacup. The quilt was still wrapped around him and he was staring at the shower, unsure of what to do with it. He felt strange like he knew the idea of a word but not the word itself. He couldn't remember anything. Why couldn't he remember? It was frustrating, searching through the drawers of his mind in a frenzy and realizing he couldn't see anything. Parents? He'd had those, right? Who were they? How old was he? What was this skin being shaken off his bones feeling? 

The questions began to stack on top of one another into a building, and he pressed a palm to his chest as his heart began to pound. Then, sucking in a breath, he sighed, setting the bathing things on the sink counter. There was nothing he could do but hope Roe had some answers. Moray let the quilt drift to the floor and looked at himself in the mirror, the reflection much clearer than any pool of water they had at the caves. Once the thought of water and caves crossed his mind, he catapulted himself down the trail. Caves? What caves? He remembered a salty taste in his mouth, the feeling of cold wet stone beneath his palms and knees. But why? Shying away from the panic that fought to brim, he swallowed and made eye contact with himself. 

His shaggy hair was so blond it was white, and his thick eyebrows stood out on his forehead like bars of light. His eyelashes seemed offended by how black his eyes were and burned all the more. He opened his mouth, staring at his teeth, then stuck out his tongue, pink and weird like the muscle from an oyster. Moray splayed his fingers and nibbled at the fingernails, then flexed his arms, turning them this way and that, looking with curiosity at the wrappings covering odd places of his body. He wiggled his toes, and stretched out his legs, marveling at the muscle that rolled beneath his skin. He paid closer attention to the fuzzy halo of white hair that lay over his legs and arms. He was continuing his inspection when he heard knocking on the door, and he opened his mouth trying to speak as he scrambled for the quilt. 

Nothing came out but a brainless hissing of air as his mouth and tongue flapped about like a fish dumped on a boat. The knocking came again and he managed out a grunt that flittered and then fell to the floor in a heap. 

"I'm sorry, I forgot about yer voice." Roe said through the door and he felt his face crease as he heard her. He wondered why he felt so much affection for someone he had never known.

"I brought ye some clothes, they're not much but they'll do the trick. If they dinnae fit ye we can get others. I'll put them on yer bed after I change the sheets, so." She took a breath and then went on. He wondered how she could talk so quickly. 

"Granda got McCawley, (that's his adopted son,)" She added for his benefit and let out a quick laugh that made his stomach flip around "well he got McCawley to drive down to the store and pick ye up some underthings, like." he wondered what on earth those were and then realized she meant underwear. 'Why dinnae ye just say underwear, ya eejit?' He wanted to tease.

"He should be back soon! I'm going to change the sheets now, knock if ye need something, so."  He heard her exit the room and realized she had called the bed his bed and felt a rush of hope. He dropped the quilt again and began peeling off the wrappings. Steam was floating out of the shower and had begun fogging up the windows and mirror. Under the wrappings, an herbal substance was plastered to his body. Moray stared at it, wondering what it was there for. He stepped into the shower and felt the broiling water burn against his skin. 

He scrambled out onto the tile again and frantically grappled with the knobs, turning the cold water on. Once it became warm he stepped back in and watched the paste dissolve into a green tint as it rolled off. Hiding beneath the herbs were knife wounds, which stung slightly. He stared, trying to remember how he had gotten them. A wave of nausea coated his insides and the panic rushed over the edge of his suppression like a waterfall. Something was violently, horribly wrong. He was missing something, but he couldn't tell what it was. He had lost it, something precious, sacred. It wasn't just missing from him, it had been stolen, taken away.  He needed it like he needed oxygen. But what was it?