Pilot Pride (A Poe Dameron fanfiction -- Star Wars)

34 (46-53). Passing of Time

But I knew I couldn't. I had to keep going. So I did.

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I was sitting in the lobby of the deserted dormitory hall on a small chair. Sunlight streamed through the windows, but all was dark. I was surrounded by a group of investigator employees. They were asking me questions, consoling me, and keeping my company, but I felt none of it.

I listened to their questions and I answered, much like a robot. They were attempting to provide me with comfort but their attempts were frugal and useless. I could feel nothing and the one person whose presence I yearned for had been no where to be found since the meeting in General Organa's personal study yesterday.

"Did you notice any strange actions coming from either Ms. Gesha or Ms. Zeke leading up to the incident?" A voice asked me, and I stared blankly into the sunny threshold of the hall.

Every time I heard Opi's name I felt a sinking burst in my chest; I felt the opening of a gaping, ragged hole that wanted to envelope my existence. Every time I heard ShanHa's name every single nerve in my body lit with an empty rage that hungered for her pain, her blood.

I heard their names in the same sentences frequently and I was being run down.

"Yes. ShanHa was always strange. Opi was fine, but scared people were looking through her things." I answered monotonously, staring ahead but not seeing.

"Alright, Ms. Pallen, that rounds up questions for today." A voice said. I stood up.

"I'm not doing this again." I blankly said before walking off beyond them. I ignored whatever else they said to me.

I reached the threshold of the hall and heard a bustling behind me.

"Coming through." A burly voice warned, and I stepped to the side. Four big men carried a plank out the threshold. The plank clearly held a body that was covered by a weak white sheet.

Opi.

Next thing I knew I had keeled sideways onto the ground and I watched from a low angle as the men carried her body away from me, around the corner.

Opi.

And then I was up and running, my limbs stiff but pushing, and I turned the corner. The men were still there. I ran to them, ran to the plank, ripped off the sheet. They verbally protested me, and their hands were on me, and next thing I knew I had sent one of them flying backwards without even touching them.

The plank dropped onto the ground and thankfully her body remained on top of it but now I was looking into her open dead eyes.

Opi.

Her dark brown hair was splayed crazily around her head. The deep, thin cut on her throat smiled greedily up at me and I felt raw hatred looking at it. Blood was crusted down her neck. Her thick lips were slightly parted and she looked blankly up at the sky. I bent over her. My hair fell in my face. I pushed it back.

I fearfully, gently laid a hand on her cheek.

Then someone was grabbing me and trying to yank me away. I quickly stood up and cried out as I thrust them away, off of my back. I heard voices all around me. I bent over Opi.

Then I heard a voice, a familiar voice, a voice I would allow into my mind, a voice I would let talk to me.

I took one final look at my friend. One lasting look at Opi, where I memorized the essence of her kindness, of her beauty, of her smile, of her optimism, of her innocence, of how undeserving of this fate she was.