Labyrinth of White - The Moon Trilogy - Book #1

Chapter thirty-four:

August's head was pounding. He knew he should wake up, but he just didn't want to.

He'd pushed himself too far, and he was very much aware of that fact. The pain from his numerous injuries paled in comparison to his monster of a headache.

Once again, the indistinct whisperings filled the edges of his mind. He tried to push them away, but they only grew in volume, as they always did when he tried to ignore them. It had annoyed him to no end more times than he could count.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he started to feel something other than the aching pain. He was laying on something that he guessed to be either a hard mattress or a very soft floor.

Even though he wanted to know where he was, he knew that opening his eyes would only make his headache more unbearable than it already was, so instead of opening his eyes, he felt around with his hands.

His first guess had been wrong, as he quickly discovered that he was on a couch. The floor wasn't too far away, and it was covered in a rug or carpet.

He slid off the couch but misjudged the distance to the floor, which led to him landing with a jarring thud. His headache flared again despite his actions to prevent it.

This was getting him absolutely nowhere.

He decided to open his eyes. The pain would save him a lot of time, and it would eventually fade anyways. It was a bigger risk to go traipsing blindly around an unfamiliar space, anyways.

So he took a deep breath and prepared himself, but when he opened his eyes, the light wasn't nearly so bright as he'd assumed it would be. A single window in the far wall let in a weak, foggy glow. The sky outside was overcast.

Now that he had something to focus on besides the blackness of his own thoughts, the whispering had grown more distant. Things were under control now, and unless something went wrong, he would only have to bother with garbled voices if he wanted to.

A doorway across the room was the only source of light besides the foggy window, and more voices came from there. Only these voices weren't in his head.

Using the coffee table for balance, he pulled himself to his feet. Of course, he misjudged himself yet again and ended up tilting backward when his legs failed to support him, earning him yet another painful fall.

He tried again, this time crouching for a time until he was sure he could stand without toppling over again.

Although he teetered for a split second, he was able to gain his balance. He was careful and made sure to test his legs with every step. He wasn't going to risk falling again. His legs felt like jelly and acted like it too, but he was able to make it past the couch before he had to stop for fear of blacking out.

A cold breeze swept through the room, reminding him that he didn't have a shirt.

When he was ready, he continued walking. He made it exactly two steps before a sharp jab pain shot up his leg and he had to pause again. Stars swam before his eyes. He blinked.

The pain in his leg slowly eased, and he carefully continued on his way. The doorway was only a couple of feet from him now. He could clearly hear chattering coming from the room beyond. There was a delicious smell wafting in through the doorway.

As he inhaled the smell of baked goods, his stomach clenched painfully. He hadn't eaten in God knew how long.

He mentally added that to the list of things he had to deal with.

With another couple of steps, he reached the doorway and he leaned against it. The room beyond was a kitchen. The people he'd been hearing were seated around a counter in the middle of the room, a pan of cinnamon rolls sitting temptingly on the counter in front of them.

These were the people from the Organization, the ones who had freed him.

Calling up the whispers, he quickly gathered their names. Clarity, Rachel, Clara, and a man who went by a name not his own. Johnathan was the name he'd adopted. A couple of his rescuers were missing, one named Sam, and the other still nameless in the minds of the remaining four.

Rachel looked up, her deep, red eyes locking onto him. Her eyebrows shot up and her mouth paused mid-sentence. The others looked to see what she was staring at, and all showed similar surprise at what they saw.

Due to the fact that he'd been resting against the doorframe for a good couple minutes, he no longer felt as drained. He was able to walk the distance to the counter in the center of the room with just a single stumble.

Their eyes tracked his progress, never once leaving, and he couldn't blame them. He was a half-naked telepath, after all.

He scanned the room. It was pretty much just a standard kitchen. White stone-top counters with veins of grey and black and a white tiled floor. At least, it was standard right up until he got to the occupants. A vampire, a bird mutant, and someone who wasn't even born on Earth.

He looked at each of them in turn, tilting his head a little to the side. Each one refused to break their stares.

"Why are you staring?" he asked after a long silence. His voice seemed to be the only thing untouched by his time in the Organization's lab. He didn't really have to ask, but he did.

"We weren't expecting you to wake up so soon," Clara said, pushing her black glasses up her nose. That was only a half-truth, but he accepted it anyway.

"Well, I'm awake now, so you can stop staring."

They were silent now. Only one of them wasn't just a little bit afraid of him.

His stomach clenched yet again when he eyed the golden-brown rolls they were eating.

"You can have some if you want to." Clarity said, gesturing to the half-empty pan on the center of the counter.

Thankful for the invitation, he snatched up a plate and quickly served himself with the turkey fork that had been placed in the pan. Quite the strange choice of utensil.

They were watching him.

Not a single one of them trusted him, least of all Rachel. It was almost funny, considering the fact that he was the only one at the table who had never killed someone—even Clara had, though not on purpose. He fought a smile.

"What's so funny?" Clarity asked, in the midst of taking a bite, her eyes locked on him.

"She doesn't like me." He jabbed the turkey fork in Rachel's direction, not bothering to fight his smile anymore.

He knew that the blatant calling out of his telepathy wouldn't help them trust him anymore, but he wasn't going to bother coming up with any sort of excuse.

There was one good thing, though. None of them really seemed to care that he was shirtless, for which he was glad. Wearing a shirt would only succeed in aggravating his already-stinging wounds.

He knew he had to look very strange indeed, with his bald head, odd wounds, and black eyes, but it wasn't like they didn't look strange themselves, and Clara had most likely been working around mutants for quite a while, so she was obviously used to it. Clarity was the only one who was just a little bothered by it.

Mid-way through the meal, Clara jumped to her feet, upsetting the chair as she did.

"What's wrong?" Clarity asked.

"I just remembered something really important that I had to do today," Clara replied, something panicky filling her eyes. Her really important thing involved family, but that was all that August could ascertain from her frantically whirling thoughts.

"You can leave." Clarity said. "We don't mind."

"Okay, thank you," Clara said breathily. She half-ran out of the room.

The faint sound of a door opening and closing heralded her departure.

"And then there were four," August said as he forked a bite from his plate.

Rachel shot him a look that all but forced him to laugh a bit, which prompted them to look at him like he was crazy.

But he didn't mind very much. He was used to it.