Calm; Decay Volume 1: Who Killed Cock Robin?

10 - Abstract Safety - 10

There was a theory Douglas Swallow had shared with Ashra about strange beds making for shallow sleep. Ashra's eyes opened and closed several times over late hours, fluttering in and out of vague dreams. Every time he awoke, another piece of his surroundings settled back into his consciousness, always independent, never connected.

You're deep in the Decay Belt.

Sleep.

Dreams of muddy fried fish. Lily would not like them dirty, but Ashra could not clean them without water.

Your father is dead. It's numb now, but the sensation will return.

Sleep.

The fish had been replaced by his father's wedding ring. The gold was buried somewhere in the mud.

You have to make a decision.

This time, Ashra's eyes shot open, the disjointed narrative of his dreams finally connecting to the lucid world. Outside his window, the moon hung low over the streets of Chryssus. There would only be a few hours until sunlight broke through the city's skyline.

Ashra rose from bed, pulling on his shorts and cinching the draw-string around his waist. A deep, guttural snore from the room next door grumbled through the thin walls. Ashra twisted the knob of his bedroom door, careful not to let the click alert any equally shallow sleepers.

The hallway was empty. Windows threw swatches of blue moonlight down the narrow hallway, its peaceful glow at odds with Ashra's nervous steps. As amiable as Parabellum's leadership had been, Ashra knew nothing of the other faces in the crowd, much less how they would respond to finding a guest creeping around their sleeping quarters in the middle of the night.

Something tittered outside, an animal noise, distant. It called out in the night, perhaps searching for its companion in the dark. Ashra would have thought it a bird in his old life.

One pane, two panes. Ashra counted the windows, retracing his distance from the hallway stairs.

It's this one.

Coming to a halt before the nondescript door, Ashra felt a moment of hesitation.

Was this right?

Two fears competed for attention in Ashra's insides. The first, that this was not the right door, and he was about to go stumbling into a stranger's bedroom. The second, more tangible reason, was that Ashra still did not have a plan beyond the impulse driving him out of bed in the middle of the night.

It was too late for that, though. Ashra pushed his doubting stomach downward, ignoring every instinct warning him it would easier, safer, if he would simply retreat to the safety of his bed.

Inside was darker still. Ashra did not need a lamp, nor did he need to fumble in the lightless room. It would still be empty, save for one important detail. A chair, situated in the center of the room. A body, tied to the seat, heaved in its sleep, neck bowed without a place to lay. Ashra's fingers began searching, looking for the cotton tied around its stubbled chin.

The man woke with a start, grunting under his gag. Without light, Ashra could not see his face. Without light, Ashra knew the prisoner could not see his face either.

"Shhhh..." Ashra hushed, putting both hands on the man's shoulders.

Every muscle in his shoulders had turned to stone, as though rigor mortis had already taken hold of his wounded body.