Days Are Numbered

39: Haunt me

(A few weeks later)

In the dead of the night, where everyone was enveloped in dreams of varied fragrances and vibrant colors, the land where spirits could roam free or journey through time to explore. Yet, it was also the realm where darkness could overshadow and ensnare one's soul in horrifying hours that felt like fleeting minutes. Noah found himself back in the lab, pinned down by straps, lying in a pool of his own blood. The distant footsteps seized his attention—how could he ever forget Yaroslav's heavy and ominous steps? Panic surged within him, urging him to break free, to run, to escape the clutches of the monster approaching. Despite his futile struggles, he remained ensnared, helpless against the impending danger.

As the imposing figure of Yaroslav loomed over him, wielding a remote, Noah's body tensed, his gaze locking with the beast of a man. A smirk twisted across Yaroslav's stoic face as he pressed the button. A surge of unidentified pain ripped through Noah's body, and he cried out in agony—

The jug beside the nightstand toppled over from the collision with Noah's arm during his restless sleep, jolting him awake in a cold sweat. As he sat up abruptly, the dark room spun around him, disorienting and eerie. A sharp pang shot through his foot, causing him to wince involuntarily. He lifted his foot to discover a piece of glass embedded in his flesh, the warm trickle of blood stained the floor beneath him.

The door creaked open, its sound echoing through the silent room, freezing Noah in anticipation of the intruder's arrival. With bated breath, he cautiously grasped a sharp piece of glass, ready to defend himself against any threat. Relief washed over him as Mark entered, flicking on the light switch. Noah released a sigh of relief, his tense muscles relaxing at the familiar sight of the butler.

In his anxious state, Noah realized he had clenched the glass shard so tightly in his hand that it had cut into his palm, blood now seeping from the wounds. Hastily, he dropped the glass, his nerves still on edge from the sudden awakening and the unsettling events of the night.

Noah effortlessly wiped the blood on his pajamas as Mark watched, discomfort evident in his expression. "I'm fine," Noah reassured, his voice casual as he wiped his eyes. "Sorry about the jug—it must have disturbed your sleep," he added before removing the glass with a flinch, catching Mark off guard with his nonchalant demeanor.

As Noah reached for some tissue to wipe the blood from his feet, he attempted to stand, but Mark rushed to his side. "Sit still, you're hurt," Mark insisted, concern coloring his voice.

Noah stared at him in surprise, realization dawning slowly. "Oh," he muttered. "Right," he agreed, acknowledging his own negligence. He had become so accustomed to survival mode that he had forgotten he was now in the safety of civilization.

Mark retrieved a first aid kit, and Noah reached for the disinfectant, pouring it on his cut without flinching, his actions reminiscent of his time at the camp. He repeated the process for his hand before settling back into his covers. Mark watched him in disbelief. "Sir," he began, but Noah cut him off.

"Goodnight, Mark," Noah said softly, turning his back to the man, hoping he would take the hint and leave. Mark complied, switching off the light as he exited the room.

Noah waited a moment before slipping out of bed, crossing over to his desk, and switching on his laptop. He reached for his headphones, immersing himself first in "Voila" and then "La Voix des Sentinelles." Noah scrolled through his laptop, opening a textbook before grabbing a note adorned with multiple stickers.

*********

The morning unfolded gracefully, with the sun's rays piercing through the clouds and casting a warm glow over the estate. Workers bustled about, moving from room to room, ensuring everything was in order. Gardeners tended to the grounds while pool cleaners went about their tasks.