Days Are Numbered

20: Disturbed

Noah jolted awake from the clutches of a nightmare, his breath caught in a gasp. The room, dimly lit, was a witness to the aftermath of his subconscious torment — sweat clinging to his skin, and tremors coursing through his frame. This nightly ordeal had become a haunting routine, and yet, leaving room for no peace.

He sat up moving his wet pillows, then wiping the sheen of perspiration from his forehead, Noah tried to shake off the lingering thoughts of the nightmare. The details eluded him, yet fragments persisted — an unsettling montage of drowning in a sea of blood, accusing pig-like creatures, and a widening chasm separating him from the figure of his mother and of course his mistake. He stared at his bandage-covered wrist before squeezing his eyes shut trying to squeeze the picture out of his mind.

In the uneasy silence that followed, Noah grappled with the fractured memories, each shared a cruel reminder of a reality distorted by the echoes of his own fears. The room, once quiet, now felt like a prison of shadows as he wrestled with the lingering specters of the dream that dared to seep into his waking hours. Another shaggy breath followed along with a sigh.

"Wild awake?" A voice asked in a whisper. Noah pressed his lips in thin lines ignoring Dhakirah's question.

"It's been three days. Three days since the incident in the basement and three days since you have been wearing a zombified expression on your face." He continued. "What's going on in your head?"

"Nothing," Noah replied, hoping to dismiss Dhakirah's suspicion.

"You need to know how to kill to survive. Not hurt yourself." Dhakirah confessed.

Noah furrowed his brows, "I'm fine. Just concentrating on staying out of trouble." Noah whispered, hiding the truth behind a veil of lies.

"if you struggle with nightmares and stress you have to let someone know or see Avgustin," Dhakirah suggested as his mind flashed back to the horrific scene he had witnessed— Noah lying in a pool of blood barely breathing, in the basement, and it was no other blood than his.

Noah clung to his sheet, a lifeline in the darkness, before easing himself back down, seeking refuge in the comforting embrace of his bed. Without a word, he shut his mind down.

Dhakirah could only frown in the dark, "this is for your good." he whispered.

******

Noah reached for some pieces of bread, stuffing them in his pocket. Only God knows the exact number of times it had saved his life from starvation. The sound of footsteps in the east of the hall caught his attention, so he straightened grabbing the tools for gardening before walking out of the kitchen crossing path with Browne.

"Augustin wants to have a word with you," Browne said long after they crossed paths Noah acted like he didn't hear. So he continued, on getting to the garden he dropped the tools marching towards hell to answer the call of satan.

Noah stood by the imposing oak door, a silent witness to the torrent of memories that flooded his mind. The countless instances of being summoned to the office or unceremoniously dismissed replayed like a haunting reel. In every encounter, pain was a constant companion, an unwelcome guest that lingered long after the door closed.

The corridor, with its sterile walls and oppressive ambiance, seemed to carry the lingering scent of those encounters. It was a scent that choked Noah, a reminder of the emotional toll exacted by the man behind the oak door. The very essence of the corridor made him shiver.

Avgustin was a figure of cruelty. Harsh and emotionless, he reveled in causing damage, his reluctance to offer even the smallest reward was a testament to his unyielding nature. To Noah, he was a specter of fear, a living embodiment of harsh judgment that left scars on both the body and soul.