SECOND DRAFT: Hard Bank Left

1

Krys awoke in a cold sweat, unable to move. Wanting to scream but barely able to breathe. Pale moonlight streamed through the large domed window that covered the entire back wall of her quarters. Clouds moved over the glass in ripples, ripples echoed by the dark mass over her head. The mass fluttered, Krys's breaths came shorter, her eyes widening.

Not again. Oh god, oh god. Please god, not again.

The harsh scratching of claws against her ceiling dug into her head, wrenching up old memories, terrible memories. She closed her eyes, holding them shut with everything she had, imagining her hands were clenched shut, that she was preparing to defend herself like she very well knew she couldn't. The scratching skittered down the wall by her head.

Hot breath licked her face. Swallowing became difficult. Breathing was becoming difficult. If only she could whimper, if only she could cry out.

Rib-cracking weight crept up her torso and settled on her chest.

Please...

Krys opened her eyes again, she couldn't make out its face. Why could she never make out its face? Saliva parted her lips. Still, barely to breathe, she gasped, whimpered, choked.

A heavy rushing filled the room, permeating the walls, vibrating the bunk. Krys closed her eyes again, praying to god, praying to anything that would listen. When she opened her eyes again she could move. The creature was no more than a wisp of smoke at the corner of her vision.

Slowly, hesitantly, Krys crawled to the foot of her bunk, climbed down the inset ladder. Clouds continued to roll by, lit dimly by the now setting moon. The narrow walkway that was her room pressed in against her. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think.

A faint flickering light filled a tube-like canister mounted to the wall by the door. A figure moved inside. Krys passed through the doorway as a tinny voice began to speak. She couldn't make out what it said, the door had already shut behind her.

Groggily, and yet awake enough to not sleep again that night, Krys padded quickly across the narrow metal hall between her room and the laundry room that also served as a sitting room. Ice latched onto the soles of her feet, crept up her legs. Shaking and chattering started as the ice reached her back. Why hadn't she worn slippers? Or put on a robe? Or out on anything more than her minimalist pajamas? Shorts and a camisole were hardly protection against the chill of high altitude. But, she didn't want to go back into her room. She couldn't even bring herself to look at the door as she contemplated going back. Instead, her eyes latched on to the plush recliner in the far corner of the sitting-laundry room. It was vacant. She sighed and took the squat, lump of a cushion chair nearest her.

The chair enveloped her in cotton, cold and the desire to forget the nightmare she had been living with or the last two years. She pulled her knees to her chest, stared blankly at the hard mock wood floor. When had that been installed? Probably when she hadn't been paying attention. He was always working on something... trying to make this place more like home.

She heard footsteps descending the short flight of stairs that lead from the main hub of the ship down to her quarters and the pilotry. They stopped at the entry to the sitting area. Krys didn't look up. She knew it was Graham. Not like there was anyone else aboard their ship. She didn't greet him. He probably greeted her, but she didn't notice. Legs crossed in front of her vision, followed by the squeaking of the recliner being relaxed open.

"Couldn't sleep either, huh?" Graham's voice, low and sweet and like melted caramel, poured over her and at last she relaxed knowing she was protected under his watch.

Krys shook her head, still not looking up.

"Need a minute?" That sound, the uptick of concern, made her smile. She'd been hearing it more often lately.