VAGUE

CHAPTER 6 (PART 5)

CHAPTER 6

-PART FIVE-

Her thoughts are a strange ocean for everyone. Whenever she speaks to them I see the wandering begin in everyone's eyes, desire to flee the conversation written on face, thinking the churnings of her mind petty words, fluff and never substance. Her thoughts were guarded, hardly ever letting an unconsidered word escape on her little lips and others may think of as self-control. In a way it is, but the effect is to leave her on the outside, rarely granting a glimpse of where her emotions really lie. She doesn't know who caused her to hide, or even if it is just within her nature. The thought trundled through her brain like a through train, with no intention of stopping. As she watched its tail lights winking in the distance, all trace of it leaving her neurons, wondered if maybe that was the one idea that would have made her millions.

The silence was a poison to them, for in that void of sound the shallowness of their conversation was laid bare. What used to be an intellectual banter of politics and comedic moments was utterly vapid. It was recycled, re-hashed, twittered garbage worthy of Fox News. And so without another word. Silence gnawed at her insides. Silence hung in the air like the suspended moment before a falling glass shatters on the ground. The silence was like a gaping void, needing to be filled with sounds, words, anything. The silence was poisonous in its nothingness, cruelly underscoring how vapid their conversation had become. The silence was eerily unnatural, like a dawn devoid of birdsong. Silence clung to them like a poisonous cloud that at any moment could choke the life from them. Silence seeped into their every pore, like a poison slowly paralyzing them from either speech or movement.

As they reach the front lodge of the mansion gives them a relief from unnatural and uneasy silence after the confrontation.

A house with a long and narrow, perhaps only twelve feet wide at the front, but it stretched some thirty feet back like a giant shoe box. It was five stories high and had a one story extension at the rear for the kitchen. A huge rose garden carved as a maze had been planted in front, and although it had obviously once been carefully planned and loved. The house was indeed Elizabethan, with wooden and metal panels along the corridors, ornate chandeliers, and oil paintings of old bearded men in tunics and ruffs. The stairs led down into a tall galleried room with a rug spread out over flagstones and a fireplace big enough to park a car in. A long polished wooden table had been set for three. Two way stairs were seen as the main door open, came to a roundabout with a fountain at the center, swept around it, and continued up toward a fantastic sprawling house. It was Victorian, redbrick topped with copper domes and spires that had long ago turned green. There must have been at least a hundred windows on five floors facing the drive. It was a house that just didn't know where to stop.

As they hold Peterson carefully, leading them to the nearest elevator going to the basement, it is very hard for them to walk using stairs.

"how can you be so sure that he's not even dead?" tiredness can be heard as Gray uttering his lines

"I'm holding his pulse and I know he's alive" she simply utters

They look pretty tired specially the young demon filled with bruises and blood spots.

"He's losing lot of blood, curing his wounds isn't enough at all" Gray stated while carefully help young Peterson to move forward.

"I can do a blood transfusion... idiot"

As the elevator door opens, the hallway has as much personality as the hospital. The floor is slate grey and the walls dove. Above the ceiling is made from those polystyrene squares laid on a grid-like frame. The light is too bright for everyone's eyes after the darkening gloom outside, find it abrasive, enough perhaps to bring on one migraines. Above every door pass is a large plastic sign, dark with white lettering- no fancy fonts, just bold and all-caps. It's so new and spotless, feel like the whole building must have just gotten beamed here from some-place dirt is outlawed. Nowhere is the chronic underfunding more evident than in the hallways. They are for the most part crammed with patient, strapped in- eyes toward the naked fluorescent tubes that flicker as though they tend to hypnotized. The luxurious navy blue walls are deeply scored by the metal framed trollies, the drywall showing though like white scars. The elegant prints on the walls are full of spirit, full in vibrancy that they appear sun-bleached in this windowless strip. A door in the middles seems to be their spot.