Sleep Noise

Blind Fold

Zia's ears rang with echoed voices, encouraging the pounding of her head. She tried to talk but a burning ripped through her throat and she cough violently.

“Zia, are you okay?” Atti. She nodded without opening her eyes.

“You scared the shit out of us.” Delaney's voice was hoarse and quiet as it always was. She let her eyes flutter open and they stung like she'd stepped out into blowing sand.

“Where are we?” She couldn't see to recognize her surroundings. Her head was a pillow and an old T shirt, much too large, hung over her frame.

“My studio in Prague,” Delaney answered. It was one of many small apartments he owned in cases of emergency or boredom when his introversion got the best of him.

“What happened?” she croaked. A rough hand clasped hers, a long pause following. Her eyes shifted open just enough to make out Delaney's frown.

“There was a fire.” Zia's heart froze and her jaw dropped. The smell of smoke.

“How?” No candle had been lit. No surge protectors went overused. No one had used the oven.

“Someone set it, very much so on purpose.” His voice lowered even more so and she felt a lump in her throat, tears soothing the arid feeling in her eyes.

“But who? And why? What did we do?” She began to blubber. “Atti, tell me why.” Her grief turned to anger and found its home in Atticus. She watched his face fall, surprise and then acceptance combined in a ragged breath.

“I don't know. I tried to stay out of it. I did everything I could to stay out of it and,” his shoulders fell, “I'm so sorry, guys.” Delaney placed a consoling head on his shoulder.

“I know, Atti. We know.” He glanced at Zia with a hard eye. Don't lash out.

“This is where it ends. If I had to kill, I won't let us get dragged down with it.” Atticus stood and huffed. “Delaney... Can I borrow some pants?” Delaney smiled and nodded, gesturing with a large thumb to the dresser behind him. Atticus dressed and disappeared with a quick nod, ash and salt water still mixed across his face.

“What's really happening, Delaney? What do we have to do with any of this?” she pleaded for answers, thin fingers gripping his. They'd lived together for years in a comfortable routine. No break ins, no brawls. Atticus slept all day and then left, returning with a blood dappled mouth or a foul mood. Zia worked at a construction company as the CEO's personal assistant and shopper, well fed and entertained away from the house but never home later than made it necessary to sneak. Delaney worked two weeks on and two weeks off on as an oil rig worker, every cent he made invest. They lived quietly. Delaney couldn't answer his friends questions and that guilt prickled his skin.

“I can't tell you, Z, I wish I could.” He voice shook. “What else did you notice about this guy?” She clenched her eyes and her head wavered to the side.

“I was so drunk...” Her brain shook to knock free the memories the liquor stowed away. “He just seemed desperate. He had a wedding ring on. I knew he'd been there a while because I thought he was cute and kept checking,” she chuckled under her breath. “He didn't tell me anything. Just asked about Atticus.” Delaney looked away, running the inside edge of his hand over and over his mouth. Zia spoke up again, “What is it?”

“We might have just let our best friend run head first into a trap.” He stood. “Stay here,” he demanded, focusing his thoughts on Atticus, remembering his clothes and expressions, his emotions and their friendship. In less than an instant, he was gone, following Atticus' path through the space between plains.

 

He was standing in the middle of an empty bar, looking around for his friend. He was no where.

“Mr. Dean just left.” The bar tender was taking chairs off tables and setting them on the ground noisily.

“Where'd 'e go?” Delaney trotted over. The scruffy man sat a chair down with one steady hand. He looked over with a cocked eyebrow.

“He practically begged me for some guy's ID copy. Even offered me money, funny enough.” He gave another skeptical glance. “Everything okay, guy?”

“I just really need to check on him. Do you remember the address on the card?” He laughed at the question.

“I just hold 'em. I don't memorize 'em.” He made his way to a broom in the corner and started to sweep.

“Well, what about the city? Last name. Anything to narrow it down,” Delaney pleaded, beginning to realize how suspicious it all might sound to someone he hadn't known for years. The bartender thought, looking up and to the right.

“Oliver was the last name, I'll be damned if I remember the first name.” He shrugged and made his way to the open sign, pulling on a long white string to activate the blue and red neon. “Now buy a drink or get out.” Delaney received a wink before he left the bar. He stood outside, trying to gather his next move. He'd waited too long to follow Atticus' second teleport. He had no government connections or friends at the DMV. The only higher power he knew was in control of every human on the planet via one of the strongest drives imaginable. Lust.

 

There was a knock on the door and Asmodeious took his feet off the desk.

“Come in!” he chimed. The door opened slowly and he tried leaning to see who it was.

“I'm sorry to bother you, sir,” a deep voice crept from a pair of thin lips. Tall, probably close to 6'3” with deep, entrancing hazel eyes. Muscular arms and shoulders contracted nervously as he rolled his eyes over them.

“What can I do for you?” He leaned back in his chair and placed his hands behind his head comfortably. His suit was dark blue with a loose tie, black with full spectrum pinstripes over a wrinkled white button up. His hair was short and dark brown, elegantly disheveled on top. His eyes were blue, bright and sparkling like a Caribbean bay, with an intense grip on anyone they lazed over. Delaney stopped in the doorway, immediately intimidated.

“I need help finding someone quickly and I don't have any other choice but to come here,” he answered hurriedly. He received a disbelieving look.

“Have we met?” Asmodeious disregarded the young man's explanation.

“No,” he almost cringed as he finished. “I'm one of your... Shales.” Asmodeious lit up, eyes sparkling and feet flat on the floor.

“Why didn't you say so, darling? I'm always happy to help out one of my own little cherubs. Who is it you're looking for?” The man was sprightly and animated, hopping up from his chair to pour a drink at his bar.

“Richard Oliver.” Asmodeious set his glass down sullenly, all cheer leaving him.

“Oh. Well, good luck.”