Fog billowed about her, heavy and thick. It glowed silver; trapped moonlight, luminescent as it flowed around her, filling the narrow hallways. It illuminated the scarred, blue and white walls, the worn painted concrete beneath her feet. It lit the empty, desolate corridors with a ghostly menace, the only source of light in the dingy space. The place seemed familiar to Charlotte, but it was uncertain, unclear. It was as if it belonged to someone else, not to herself.
She inhaled the sweet scent that surrounded her. She could smell the fear that haunted the rooms, the halls. It clung to the air, an unseen spectre inciting goosebumps across her flesh. Charlotte grinned, a hungry grin. It stirred something in her, the darker side she kept under tight lock and key.
She closed her eyes to the mournful air of the place, knowing it wasn't real, knowing it was a dream, a place that couldn't harm her. She could sense the fear that lived there, but it was a comfort, it was exciting, not something that concerned her.
She rambled down the corridor, her hand trailing the silver fog, dragging it up in long tendrils, like teasing apart spun candyfloss. It clung to her clothes, her skin. It was full of ghosts, full of terror. It held a century of horrors. She inhaled it, feeding on it, when she noticed something new, something fresh.
Water dripped steadily nearby, a rat-tat-tat in the silence. It accompanied her lonely footsteps as she ambled towards the heart of the place, to where the fear was most potent, most fresh.
She turned the corner, into a large, windowless room filled with swirling, silver fog.
"What are you doing here?" asked a low, threatening voice.
Charlotte stilled, the delight at this place, at the fear it held, dissipating. James stood in the centre of the room, surrounded by silver, ethereal mist and haunting, unfamiliar fear.
"This is what frightens you now?" she asked, raising an eyebrow, her voice a gentle whisper. He was so different to her now. A stranger.
James clenched and unclenched his jaw but didn't answer. She didn't need him to answer.
"I thought I was dreaming," she smiled, trailing her hand through the mist, moving towards him. "But this is not my dream, it's yours – your nightmare. I'm just a visitor".
Charlotte turned around examining the room cast in ethereal silver light. The prison they had taken him from looked different filled with fog. Or maybe she hadn't really seen it the first time she had visited it. Then she had only seen him – lying on the floor, unresponsive. She shuddered.
It only vaguely worried her that her alteration was wandering as she slept. James' fear, his night terrors must have been too tempting for it to ignore. It wasn't the first time it stole away on its own adventures while she slept. That's how she had first met Alastair Ramsey.
"You don't need to be afraid here," she breathed. "This is just a dream. If you accept it's not real, you're safe".
"Why are you here if this is my dream? Am I dreaming about you?"
Charlotte shook her head. "I think I must have invited myself. Your fear must have tempted me. Sorry for the intrusion".
"This is what your alteration does?"
She nodded. "It feeds on people's fear. It's drawn to it".
He watched her, with guarded green eyes. "You're not going to shout at me again?"
Charlotte laughed, her voice bubbling around the room. She could feel the spike in his anxiety, the wariness in his gaze.
"Not now - but I can't make any promises. I am prone to losing my temper," she whispered.
YOU ARE READING
Feared
Science Fiction'Play the game, she thought, remembering the only three words that had helped her to survive at Kingston. Only back then she had known the game, she had known what they wanted her to be, what they had wanted her to do - this man was different. She d...
