She was in Hel, or somewhere like it. The woman - for she knew that much at least - lay on a soft bed, swathed in clean, crisp sheets. They burned against her sensitive skin all the same; how long had it been since her skin had been in contact with anything other than filth and ragged clothes? She swallowed, trying in vain to wet her dry mouth, and closed her eyes. A long time, she thought, an eternity. And now this painful clean, this sparkling bright, pressed in on her from all sides, until she would have screamed if she could. But her throat was too tight, and she couldn't help feeling like the moment she opened her mouth she would have screamed and screamed and screamed. How long had it been since she made a sound? Since she'd even seen another living being? She remembered being deep, and in the deep it was quiet. The infernal beep, beep, beep of the machine at her side ricocheted through her brain until she was certain she was going mad; even voices were painful, but this cold, inhuman sound was even more jarring.
The woman sucked in a shaky breath, aching for the sweet release of sleep. If she could just sleep, if she could just - finally - feel rested, even just for one night, she was certain that everything would be better. Everything would make more sense, and she wouldn't hurt so much. But no, the only reward she received was the cold empty dark of death or, worse somehow, the trapped, futile struggle of undeath. She shuddered as she recalled her most recent time as a ghost, a handful of seconds spent wandering the hallway of this strange place, pressed in at all angles by voices and sounds and scents. The woman swallowed again, trying to pry open her dry mouth to speak. There were people here, she knew, people all around. All she had to do was open her mouth and ask for some water. That wasn't so hard.
Drip, drip, drip. The sound made her belly clench with desire; even the murky water pouring down from the cavern ceiling would be something. A low chuckle sounded in her ears, and her mouth filled with the sensation of cool, crisp water. But try as she might she could not swallow, could not taste. She was still parched, still desperate. The woman's hands tangled in her bedsheets, unable even to cry tears of frustration.
She became vaguely aware of two men in the room, standing at the doorway. They were whispering, talking about her no doubt. The woman narrowed her eyes, trying to draw their attention. Finally the younger one, just a boy really, seemed to startle.
"Um... ma'am, can you hear me?"
The woman blinked.
"Is that a yes?"
The woman blinked, summoning the strength to nod her head slowly.
"Give me a no."
The woman blinked twice, and now her head could shake. The boy yelped, making her hiss in pain.
"Sorry, sorry," he answered. "Would you like some water?"
The woman blinked. Emphatically.
And then, finally, there was actual clean water in her mouth, down her throat. The woman sighed in relief. The longer she tried, the more she could move, and at least she could hold the cup herself, drink as deeply as she liked.
"Ma'am, can you tell me anything about your condition? How you came to be like this?"
The woman, whose gaze had wandered to a nearby window, licked her lips, leaned forward, opened her mouth, and said...
"Ah, fuck."
Irritation flashed over her features even as her dark gold eyes rolled back in her head, her lifeless body slumping back against the pillows. The machine at her side screamed in alarm. Danny quickly shut it off; he'd already forced as much healing as he could into her damaged body. This wasn't disease, or a wound he could heal - at least, not that he could tell. It was the third night in a row she'd just died; the first two times her heart had begun to beat of its own accord fairly quickly, even if consciousness did not return. The last time it had been quite long, long enough that they'd decided she must be well and truly dead. |
