Me & Her

Her

Budging her tired mind out of the way, I take over.

A yawn escapes us and for a split second I fear she's drunk all of the drugged tea, but our mind resumes. Awake. Alert. Both of us are ready. Which is why this is going to be so much harder.

Why did I have to get attached? Why did I have to deviate from the plan?

'You can't kill him!' She's crying, trying to gain control over our body once again.

Forcing her to the corner of our brain, I slide off the bed, dripping white sheets around me.

'I have to. I know it was him that stole those files. He has to go, Alice'. My name – our name in a sense – sounds strange on my tongue, like an out of date mint.

'Please. Even if he stole them, we can still use him. You don't have to kill anyone. Light will know much more than we do about the Foundation and whatever the Gemini Project is. He might even give the files back,' she suggests. In all her naivety, she can't see the bigger picture.

Dr. Light is one of them. He stole the files; he needs to go. Tonight.

If she can't see that, I'll just make her forget.

If she isn't willing to work with me, there's no point keeping her informed.

'Don't,' she says, and the word stops me cold. Shivers twine upwards through my spinal column, racking my entire body.

'Please don't. I've lost so many memories. I can't forget anymore. This is a shell of life. Don't make me a shell too'. Listening to her must be rotting my brain, because I actually stop, I actually acknowledge what she is saying. In a way no one else has done. People pretend to listen; they are the best actors. Better than us. They listen, but they never hear what you say.

'Fine,' I grunt. 'We'll try it your way'. For now, anyway. Until her way doesn't work.

The world can't be changed be a few carefully chosen words.

Actions are the key.

'You can't believe that,' she says. No, I can't. Damn her.

Across the landing, his door lies closed, the wood staring at me like cats' eyes on a road. There are answers beyond that door. The truth that I need to extract.

'Don't hurt him,' she whispers, so quiet that I want to pretend I haven't heard.

'Please'.

All I can do is try. Killing is off the table but hurting sure isn't. He's hurt her, hurt me. He's part of this sick game that I never wanted to play. Never asked to.

I remember another promise, one made to us six years ago.

"You can help us. I promise you can make a difference". I promise I can – just not in the way that they expected.

The door inches closer as if on an elastic frame, alongside a looming sense of dread. Something about the Doc' is different. Not off-putting, not wrong, but different. Scuffling touches my ears, prompts me to stop with my hand on the doorknob.

Grimacing, drawn by moans of pain. Shuffling, the rustling of bedsheets. Another groan.

What the hell is he doing in there?

Opening my fingers, I take a short breath before closing them to enter the room. Blackness greets us, with a tiny fraction of moonlight tossing white onto the bed. Where he is. Tossing and turning and obviously in pain. His eyes are open, but they don't seem to be looking at anything. They're glassy, the whites submerged in oil.

Doc' scrambles upwards, holding his mouth shut as if he's trying to stop something escaping through it.

Backing against the wall, I watch the scene play out.

I can't move – my feet are led. What's happening?

He's shoved the blankets off, clutching at his head. Silently, a scream escapes him, and he rolls to the far side of the duvet. There is such agony on his face, I almost regret making fun of him.

"Light? Doc'?" I begin. He doesn't respond, he doesn't even seem to know I'm here. We don't dare to move. We just stand back. Watch.

I don't think I can close my eyes even if I want to.

He's locked in some sort of confrontation, trying to hold something back. After tossing once more, he falls from the bed. The thud reverberates throughout my entire body, shaking my bones. When he stands, he's cast in moonlight, an expression of torment frozen on his face.

'Oh god,' Alice breathes inside my head.

Dr. Light's hair is changing colour.

The white blonde fades and withers to black, while his eyes take on a darker green. His body doesn't seem to change, but his posture switches from rigid to liquid.

It all makes sense now. Why he understands what we've been through.

I'm about to run when he turns his head and stares directly at me.

And smiles.