Annihilation - Book Three

Chapter 27

"But he's not going to die, right?" I can hear a voice in the distance. 

My whole body hurts, and I want to move, yet my limbs feel disconnected. The murmuring of response makes me strain against the darkness; what are they saying? Who's dying? 

"I told him! Damn it!" 

I cringe, hearing the harsh reprimand; they're talking about me, aren't they? Am I dying?

The only conclusion I can come to is that I'm stuck in purgatory. My body tapped out, and it was the safest place for my mind to be to prevent any more use of my drained form. It was a safety measure, and I was grateful for the rest if it meant we were finally away from the rabid beasts chasing us.

 The distant pattern of footsteps serves as my only form of entertainment as I fade to blackness, only to resurface sometime later for small moments. Time meant nothing to me here, it could be minutes, hours, or days, I was none the wiser. 

"He needs to rest."

"I'm not going to bother him; I just want to sit with him." Verando's voice is low and kind; I recognize him by the accent, the depth of his baritone, and the pain at the back of his plea.

Did he blame himself? Did he understand that I chose this?

"Out."

No... come back.

 I feel the gentle sway of the world in motion, mixed with periods of absolute stillness. Side to side, cradling me, only to slam on the brakes and pin me to this world. I count sheep, twiddle my imaginary thumbs, and roll around in the empty vastness that is being absolutely drained. There's nothing to do in purgatory, nothing to think about, as thoughts were hard to come by; I'm only vaguely aware that I have the capacity to acknowledge my mortality. 

Each resurface yields a little more sensation. My toes feel the sheets covering my body, my hands feel periodically hot, and at times, I can feel a hand stroking through my hair. 

In the abyss, I remain adrift with nothing to grab onto, nothing to bring me back to the surface. I can look forward to moments of clarity when those around me speak, but I'm at the mercy of my drained mind. It was beginning to worry me; perhaps I'd gone too far this time, or perhaps I might never wake up. 

There had been rumors in the past that one's mind could become lost, darkened, to the world with excessive use. 

"Are you in here again? Don't you have a job?"

I pity the receiving end of that voice. 

"You were always an eavesdropper." 

I blink, and suddenly, my feet are on the ground, surrounded by darkness. My body swings and sways, and with no sense of balance, I nearly topple over, only to find my father standing beside me. 

"Even in your comatose state, you're dropping in on people." 

"Shut up." It feels surprisingly good to say that. "I can't choose what I listen to."

"Mm... yes, you can. You can also not wallow in self-pity and sit here in the dark." He snaps his fingers, and we're in his old study. "The book is yours. Go into the book during these times and hide until your vessel is restored. A piece of you is in here, remember?"

 I sit in a chair, feeling like a naughty child, for I was never allowed to sit here in my youth. Squirming awkwardly as he pours me a drink, I find it tastes like nothing, and the liquid has no sensation as it touches my lips.

"Yeah, it's rough. Sorry."

"I wish you were like this when you were alive." I sigh, setting the glass down as I recoil, holding my side. When I pull my hand away, it's red, a reminder that I'd felt pain before I'd lost consciousness. "Was I stabbed?"