Stygian: The Silence Of The Whisperers.

12. My Life Is A Dystopian Game And I Need Sleep

{Alfred}

"I can't move, breathe, speak, or hear, and it's so dark all the time. If I knew it would be this lonely, I would have been cremated instead."

I stepped out of the shower, my mind mulling over the foreign thought that had brushed against me. My reflection, drenched with soapy water and obscured by my wet hair, stared back from the foggy mirror.

Seems like I might be developing my psychic abilities. This experience could be one of the 'clairs' I'm starting to sense, part of my burgeoning connection with the paranormal.

The green of my eyes and the wall behind me contrasted with the racing blood in my veins. A glimpse flashed in my mind, an image from the recent memory of the farmhouse and the surrounding grassland.

Just the day after the mice incident, we returned to the B-PI headquarters as if we hadn't escaped from a madhouse at dawn. The mice had ransacked the kitchen, leaving it unsuitable for human use.

The stench was overwhelming. Even I, who could tolerate almost anything, couldn't stand it. Bella suggested that some mice might have killed each other, causing the foul odor.

"Cannibalism?" Marigold joked, with the face of someone recovering from a long fever. This made me recall her solo skit, where she portrayed both Alicia Keys and herself.

Cannibalism? A silly jest, I thought.

But what if it were true? Could there be some significance to it?

Jack hadn't contacted me since our return. Henry and Jane, on the other hand, bombarded us with questions the moment we stepped into the open room, asking for ideas on repelling mice infestations. My intention was not to hide supernatural occurrences but to reveal them at the right time, when I might run out of ideas or options.

"Alfred Robinson, Al, my love! I know you love your privacy, but aren't you spending a bit too much time conversing with the spirits of the bath? Come on, I need to shower too!" Rick's voice echoed, knocking on the bathroom door.

I let out a sigh.

Right, I remember now. I have to share my room, my private space, with this guy because his room is under renovation.

"Don't make me kick you out of my room." I threw Rick his bag, which was blocking my way out.

"Ah. Don't worry, my friend! You'll soon be begging to be friends with me." He winked, heading into the bathroom.

I raised an eyebrow. No, I won't.

Even if he's secretly rich, the offspring of a prominent figure, or possibly a powerful psychic, a ghost, or the heir of Sherlock Holmes, I have no intention of begging, let alone befriending a weirdo like him. He's a coward pretending to be strong under the boot of oppression.

My phone beeped, and it was a message from Roger: 'Meet me.'

Probably an interrogation. Maybe Jack asked him to do it since he's not talking to me, and he wants to maintain his image as the responsible adult.

Adults rarely admit they're wrong. And those who do aren't familiar with me. In other words, I haven't encountered a humble adult yet.

I glanced at my phone's battery percentage. I should probably charge it.

Rick emerged from the bathroom, flexing his noodle-like arms in the full-length mirror next to the cupboard, which had been placed there the day before I left for the farmhouse.

I pulled out the drawers of my reading desk and retrieved my wristwatch. If I don't have my phone, at least my watch will help me keep track of time.

"Hey, Robinson! That's a cool watch, man! Where did you—" Rick lunged at my wrist before I could put on my gloves.