To Be A Leader

Chapter 10: A Part Of Me

I pick at my gloves for a few moments before raising up my hand in a wave to the two men standing against one of the communal buildings, used for something or another. They notice me, even through the darkness that threatens to swallow me whole. The dim lighting casted by the lanterns and light posts do little to help us see, and the beacon on top of the coms tower on the other side of town... it just gives us a few seconds of red, flashing red.

The sight of nothing but red makes me shudder, although I'm unsure why, seeing that that beacon was what brought me home four years ago. That beacon and Sam.

"Callista, are you alright?" Peter asks, and I blink, realizing I've just been standing there in front of him and Tom like an idiot.

"Fine," I reply, a bit too quickly.

"Is it Moonchild?" Tom asks, and while he's made no step towards me, I can see he's tensed up, ready to tackle me down if I run, if Moonchild tells me to run.

"No. From how things have been going she won't be making an appearance anytime soon, thankfully."

He nods. "I heard about what happened to Andy. Shame. But you couldn't make him come with you back to Abel."

I grab the flask that's lying on the windowsill. It's for me, since I'd rather take a drink than smoke a cigarette. It's just enough to take the edge off things. "I don't want to talk about it."

"He's right, you know," Peter says, and I clench my fists to the point where my knuckles turn white. "There wasn't anything you could do-"

"I know!" I snap, then sigh and take another swig, ignoring the guilt that stabbed at me when I saw him flinch. "I know. I just... I don't want to think about it-what they're doing to him-because it's the exact same thing Sigrid wants to do to me, because there's someone out there who is more special, and I know we all think that person is me.

"That's why I came out here. I didn't want to think about it." I take another swing from the flask. I haven't asked what's in here. To be honest I haven't even focused on the taste. It could be wine mixed with antifreeze and I wouldn't care.

It's not like it can kill me.

I'm beginning to wonder if anything can kill me.

"You could just go to sleep instead of coming out to not think," Tom says, and I snort, the sound mocking.

"All three of us know that sleep is not a means of escape, Tom," I say, but my laughter dies down fairly quickly. "Are the nightmares getting any better?"

"Some."

I don't miss the hesitation in his voice.

"Are you still being locked after stressful days?" Peter asks, wincing as he does so.

"Yes, but it's becoming less and less. Jody stays with me... in my room. It helps knowing I'm not locked up alone."

The beacon flashes red, and I see the sadness in his eyes. It's haunting, but I say nothing. It would be hypocritical for me to keep pushing when I snapped at him and Peter.

So I keep quiet, taking another swig of whatever's in this flask before setting it down, back on the windowsill. I lean back against the building, closing my eyes, feeling a cool breeze kiss my skin. My skin tingles with warmth from the alcohol, but I know this isn't enough to get me drunk or even tipsy. It just helps quiet the noises. That's why we do this. I don't come out here every night, and I don't think the others do either. We just come out and hope we're not the only ones suffering that night.

I mean, it's not like we're going to talk about it. We're all too stubborn to really say anything other than a few sentences that don't allow us to really open up. But it's nice to not feel alone when the thoughts come haunting us, tearing through our minds, ripping through flesh and muscle, drilling into bone, spilling blood.