He reflected on her story as his awareness faded to black. In the Christian bible, pestilence, famine, war, and death were to usher in the apocalypse. The Horsemen would ride and raze the planet until it was free of sin.
What his Siren described sounded similar, although its origin wasn’t familiar to him. A woman with a secret box who held the fate of the world in her hands.
If it were opened, she would be the hand of God and, as far as he knew, no one was powerful enough to stop his fist from falling.
Sincethatmomentinthe cafeteria, he was entranced.
Brooks searched for the broken girl in every room in hopes of catching a glimpse of those brown locks and patchy scars. He spent many restless nights on the roof wondering what room she was assigned to, filling his mind like an obsession. How quickly the fresh berries, now an everyday offering, were forgotten in the mornings whenever his eyes searched for hers. But, day after day, he came up empty.
Nights became even more restless as he would lie in bed and search the water stains plaguing the ceiling tiles for reminders of the broken girl. Dark russet stains complimented lighter tones of almond and he could imagine the unique, vibrant colors as individual strands of hair falling over her tan scrubs.
“Gods, get ahold of yourself,” he whispered to the darkness.
He was fascinated and that made him feel just a touch guilty. He didn’t want her to think he was obsessive like Rue. He just wanted to understand why every part of her seemed so…
Alive.
Why had the color brown suddenly gained dimension? What was it about her that forced life into his veins?
He wasn’t attracted to her the way Rue seemed to be drawn to him.
No, she felt like something he wanted to study. Dissect. Learn about.
She was beautiful, but she was tragic. He wanted to know her secrets.
Brooks rolled off the bed with an exasperated sigh and pulled the old wristwatch from its hiding space. The hands were still ticking slowly around the clock face. He swiped the pad of his thumb over the glass, stuck it in his pocket, and padded toward his door.
He needed out.
Fresh air, after all, was the cure for restlessness.
He pressed his ear to the door, listened to be sure the hall was empty, and then trekked silently to the rooftop. Since her arrival to the asylum, he found more often than not that his door was left unlocked.
Maybe they were too busy trying to contain her chaos to be bothered with his.
Shadows hovered in corners and doorways along the way, the darkness inky and saturated. Phantom wisps of wind caressed his skin and sent tingles running down his spine. That ever present feeling of being watched sat heavily on his shoulders and made his skin clammy. Brooks picked up his speed and didn’t dare look over his shoulder where the shadows pooled. He didn’t want to face the monsters on his heels tonight.
Brooks didn’t take a full breath until the exit door was at his back. He stood against the chilled, heavy metal door to collect himself before ascending the access steps built along the back wall of the asylum.
His fingers tapped against his thumb in quick succession to chase down the anxiety as he focused on taking step after step up the metal stairs.
One, two, three, four.
One, two, three, four.
One, two, three, four…
He faltered at the landing. In his space, right under the constellation Ara, sat a small figure huddled against the cold. It felt like an eternity before he could encourage his frozen body to resume functioning.
Her.
He started slowly toward her prone form, each step placed with intention so as not to scare her away. The moonlight stretched his shadow across the rooftop as he maneuvered around her until it mingled with hers. Her spine stiffening was the only indication she noticed.
Brooks stopped moving, stopped fucking breathing, and waited for her response.
“Can you imagine thinking that you’re falling asleep for the last time, only to wake up and find yourself in this shit hole?”
Her voice struck him, different than he’d heard it the first time. Rather than a hoarse whisper, she was a raspy alto.
