Dark Waters Rising

Key

It was strange how much the world seemed to change at night. Even the most vibrant colors were repainted in a hundred shades of blue. Shadows deepened and darkened, light waned to a faint glow, and the face of a once solid sky revealed millions of bioluminescent freckles.

Wesley Roberts found solace in the quietness it brought to his mind. It was peaceful in a way he could never find during the day. The monochromatic world between dusk and dawn spoke to the dark feelings within him and soothed their agony to a manageable ache.

If he had to describe it, he would say that during the day he was only capable of inhaling. By nightfall, he was so tense from all of his inner torment and grief that he felt like he was suffocating. Drowning. That if he breathed in just an ounce more, he would explode. But with night came the exhale. The relief. He could just look up at the stars and forget everything else existed.

Wesley's current view of the stars was limited by a rectangular frame. It was not that of a window, nor of a door. No. This frame was carved of clay and sand and deep dark earth.

Uneven walls stretched above him from all sides and an immovable layer of bedrock pressed uncomfortably against his spine. In his hands he clutched the wooden handle of a spade, which laid across his body like a bouquet of wild flowers. Perspiration glistened against his skin, but as he laid still, his breath calming and his muscles singing, his skin began to cool.

Wesley closed his eyes, the soft sounds of the tide not far away nearly lulling him to sleep. He was so tired. Not just physically, but mentally as well. He'd been fighting for so long. Fighting to be strong. To be stable. To be all right when the world seemed intent on making him anything but. He just wanted to sleep. Just for a while. Because maybe then he'd wake up to a world that made sense. A world he understood. A world where he wasn't alone. Then maybe he could feel something again. Something else.

"Roberts!" Wesley opened his eyes to see the shadowed face of an unfortunately familiar woman peering down at him. "When I told you to dig a grave, I didn't mean your own," she said with a slightly teasing tone.

With a grunt, Wesley sat up and mumbled. "I was just taking a break."

"There's no time for breaks. It's almost high moon. Come help me with this," she jerked her head toward the beach, a few droplets of ocean water flying off of her short, black curls.

With another grunt, Wesley dug his spade into the ground and used it as leverage to hoist himself to his feet. He then tossed the tool out of the grave and followed after it with an effortful leap and an assisted climb. Andromeda patted his shoulder as he got to his feet once more, huffing as he dusted off his clothing.

"What in Seven Hells is that?" Wesley breathed as he squinted toward the shore. An ominous dark lump stood out against the foamy waves and left a sinking feeling in Wesley's gut.

"I had to improvise," Andromeda shrugged, hoisting her skirts and jogging to her catch in a very unladylike manor. Wesley followed behind her, but stopped short when a heinous stench smacked him like a wall.

"Gods!" He covered his nose. "Please tell me that's not what I think it is."

"You told me I couldn't kill anybody," Andromeda said, seemingly unfazed by the stench, "so we'll have to make due with this."

"How- how long has he been dead?"

"I don't know," she said, wrinkling her nose, "but I found him in a shipwreck just north of here."

Wesley was fighting the urge to vomit just looking at the half decomposed corpse. He was about ready to run away and empty his guts, which actually sounded quite appealing at the moment, being as it meant he could get away from the smell.