(no subject)
smiling as the shit comes down
you can tell a man from what he has to say
everything gets turned around
and I will risk my neck again, again
you can take me where you will
up the creek and through the mill
like all the things you can't explain
four seasons in one day
-crowded house
(continued from here)
He stopped himself a floor farther down and had to float back upwards. It took a great deal of effort to concentrate on moving this way, and to continue to tell himself that no, he was not going to go splat at the bottom of the shaft. He wasn't really there, he had to remember that.
Level 9, and he climbed up through the doors and stood at the end of the hallway. There was a stark difference between the floor he'd been on and the one he now stood in. Where the other had somewhat resembled a hospital wing in a low-security prison, this one felt like a basement. The doors that lined this hallway didn't hide what they were. Thick steel and barred; the floors were bare cement, the ceilings hung with slightly not bright enough long, florescent bulbs that buzzed. His fears were laid to rest for the time being when he checked a few of the rooms. Storage. Perhaps if he went farther, it would start to look as it did above. He read the room numbers to himself as he walked.
Instead, as he walked the floor turned from concrete to black and white tile. The walls changed from white-painted concrete block to grey painted walls. There were fewer doors, and they were the only things that had changed back to 'normal', or as much as he could think of them. The room numbers counted closer.
The rooms held offices, then what looked like dark exam rooms, a surgery. Finally, he came to 1273. No 'D', simply the number. This room had double doors, and he walked through them as he had the others.
He stood in a morgue.
The wrong room, it had to be. The wrong number, he'd read it wrong on the computer screen. It wasn't right, he told himself as he read the cards clipped to the industrial steel drawers along the wall. A, B, C, D... His hand rested on the drawer handle.
Leave now.
I can't.
He closed his eyes and slid the drawer open, willing it to be empty, opened them again. The body within was covered with a plastic sheet, and for a moment his hand hovered over it, unable to move. Even as a being of psychic energy, his hand shook.
Leave.
I can't.
He pulled the sheet back, and she was there, eyes closed. There were no bruises, no lacerations, nothing to hint at why she was there. He imagined shaking her shoulder and waking her up, come on, I've somewhere safe away from this place, you only need follow me. Savannah's there, and if you don't want to live with us, you can go back to London or Canberra or wherever you want, please...
He withdrew his hand, reached out again and touched her face, fingertips disappearing past her skin.
"I'm sorry, too." I love you.
He covered the body, as it was only a body now, and slid the drawer closed again. Stood in the room of silence, mind buzzing with nothing at all. A few years ago, he'd have razed the place, but now... now. Now he had to live.
There were footsteps approaching down the hall. Many feet. Let them come.
No, he had to leave. Nothing more.
"Good-bye."
And then he was gone.