Within These Walls

Life After Dark: 13 (WTW Sequel)

(Updated every Sunday by 6pm-ish. Sorry for the shorter length. Also, next week will be back to the action, so hang tight).

It's the first time I've seen sunlight in over a week. A feeble warmth right above my head, barely breaking through the thick clouds, but the sight of it does wonders for me. Reminds me of mornings spent trekking over hills and through woods back home in Pennsylvania, losing myself in the world as I explored it and slowly shedding off the stress that came with living under Sam's watchful eye.

My surroundings also help me to relax. Tall pine trees that are just now regaining their coat of leaves and a pristine river with shrubbery and slippery rocks flanking it on both sides and the untamed songs of nature in my ears. It's been over a week since I met with Dr. Hansel, and we've had almost radio silence from Hermes. Almost because he reached out to me that night when we got home. Texted me the address for a cabin hidden out near Ogden, Utah. Told me to use the well-stocked cabin and wait for further instructions.

That would take us back to the state we were in when I woke up, and I have no idea why. He won't tell me. I've texted him nonstop ever since, pleading and bargaining and threatening, but nothing has worked. We had a long and hard debate about what to do before the vote came down to following Hermes' instructions. And here we are, spending our days eating, sleeping, training, and waiting for a sign from the mysterious Hermes.

Nothing to lose and everything to gain.

"Did you see that, Carson? Pretty sure that was a blue catfish. Man, there's all kinds of fish down here. Pops has no idea what he's missing out on, does he?"

I look over to the brothers standing a few feet away on the riverbank. Davey's pointing his stick the water, talking animatedly about the types of fish he's spotted so far, but it's hard for me to pretend the situation is normal. Carson's hands are tied behind his back, and he looks so small and frail. He's wearing the new khaki pants and blue sweater that Davey bought for him recently, but already there are stains on the seat of the pants and the front of the sweater.

My heart aches as I watch Davey talk to his brother like he can understand him. Like nothing's changed between them when the truth is that, given half the chance, Carson can easily rip his brother's head off. It's obvious what he's doing. He's fueled by a desperation to get his brother back. Maybe by acting normal with him and talking to him about the memories they've shared, Carson will come back to him. He'll snap free of the Shroud's influence.

It's been months, and he still hasn't given up. I wish I had his kind of unflinching hope.

"You're quiet," Davey says, glancing at me before he skips a rock across the river.

Beside him, Carson stands completely still. A flesh-and-blood mannequin.

I smother a yawn and instead rub my gritty eyes. "Are you saying I'm usually talkative?"

He snorts. "No. But normally I can get a word or two out of you every few minutes. You've barely said a thing since we got here."

"Before I lost my memories," I begin, "I called Hansel and talked to him. But you didn't know that, did you? Why would I keep that from you?"

He picks up another pebble and rubs his thumb across its smooth surface. "You tell me."

I stare at his profile. Maybe days ago, I would've accused him of being untrustworthy, but now I'm not so sure. Because of the nightmares. They're more vivid, more real. Fragments of the past eight months that show me just enough of a picture to make me reel.

I've seen myself screaming at Marcus and Willow and Janie. Telling them to leave me alone, to stay out of my life. I've seen myself curled into a ball, prepared for the world to explode around me. I've seen myself wandering through cold and unfamiliar streets, wearing too few layers and shivering and crying miserably.