[for_peace][/for_peace]
At first, Freddie felt nothing.
He spent the remaining hours of the first night texting Hannah; he told her he was settled, that he’d had the first injection. He told her all about the room, and what Gideon had told him. He’d been told he wasn’t a prisoner, so he got up and had a look around, though made sure not to mess with anything that he didn’t have the expertise to mess with. He could have taken pictures. He could have sent them elsewhere. There were plenty of things he could have done but didn’t. Who was he going to share the information with? Truth be told, Freddie wasn’t interested in the politics. He wanted peace, and stirring another terrorist raid wasn’t on the agenda. He wasn’t a spy. Espionage was not his forte.
If the cure worked, he would tell people about it. He hoped that Gideon and the scientists here would offer the cure free of charge to those who needed it, though he doubted he’d get much information out of them regarding their plans if he were to ask. Though, that wouldn’t stop him from asking, later. It might help kill some time.
When Raul returned to check on him, Freddie asked if it were possible to get some books. Any books, it didn’t matter. Just something to read while he was sitting around, waiting for something to happen. By the time said books arrived, however, Freddie was already laying down, pillow over his head to block out the light. Weariness had crept up on him, and sleep was not far behind. The sun hadn’t risen, yet, but fatigue claimed him.
The next night, Freddie woke to the sound of someone laughing. He assumed it was the lab technicians, scientists. Someone there to help with the cure. His eyes moved lazily beneath his closed eyelids, still so tired. It was unusual to feel so tired. Normally, as soon as the sun had completely sunk below the horizon, he was suddenly awake, suddenly alert, with all the cooped-up energy of a healthy man in the prime of his life. Now, however, he felt like he was coming down with something. A fever, maybe, though he didn’t feel hot, or unreasonably cold.
The island, over there. I’ve walked its length twice over. But it’s too far away now…
It took a good five seconds for Freddie’s eyes to split open, the blue violent in the whiteness of the light spilling into the room. He sat up and looked around. No one was there. He could have sworn someone was whispering in his here. Whispering, something about islands…
He let out a deep sigh. He told himself he’d been dreaming, in that state between sleep and consciousness. It wasn’t anything. It was just his imagination doing strange things in this unfamiliar place. He missed Hannah, too. This was the first night he’d woken up without her by his side in… well, months. Here, he was alone.
To pass the time, he moved the bed so it was up against a wall. He’d got dressed in a pair of track suit pants and plain t-shirt, his feet bare. He was comfortable, at least. The pillow was propped up against the wall and the books laid out beside him; he texted Hannah to tell her he was awake. He was still safe. He didn’t tell her about the whispering, but told her how tired he felt, like there was sand in his eyes.
He was a good patient. Raul came and went to check on him; he took blood, checked his eyes, and numerous other tests that Freddie didn’t ask about. He did, however, ask if they were testing on animals; he’d been hearing them, on and off. Whimpers and yelps, howls, as if from monkeys. Growls, both timid and vicious. They were just echoes; he wondered if they were coming through from another room through the vents.
Raul assured Freddie there were no animals; none that were making that much noise, anyhow. He took notes. Freddie, too, took notes. Suddenly he felt cold, and it wasn’t fever. It was the cold of fear; a prickling of it, just beneath his skin. Subtle, but it was there. Was he going to lose his mind? Was he going to go insane? Was this just the beginning of the end? What point was there in being human if he didn’t have the wits to enjoy his life? He swallowed down the fear. He’d keep going. These things could pass.
The weariness only increased, and Freddie found himself sleeping more than not. With each day that passed, every night that he woke up the more he felt like an old man. His muscles ached—an ache that penetrated right down to the bone. The sleep was restless; he kept hearing footsteps, as if someone were coming to check on him, but when he opened his eyes there was no one there. And the whispers, too—that first one wasn’t his imagination, he concluded. They were meaningless, like disjointed conversations, like he’d been dropped into the middle of someone else’s tete-a-tete. Sometimes the whispers were urgent, sometimes they were just meandering nothings.
It was disconcerting.
By the beginning of the third night, after confessing all this to Raul and enduring another round of tests, he asked if Hannah would be allowed in. He no longer wanted to be alone. He’d understood why, to begin with; by now, they should know that he didn’t intend to sabotage them, and he vouched for Hannah’s trustworthiness. He didn’t mean to use his powers, though he was almost relieved that they were still there. His tongue was silver, his pleading weighted with conviction and persuasion.
”Please. You’d allow a dying man’s relatives space his bed, wouldn’t you? I’d really prefer not to go through this alone…”
At first, Freddie felt nothing.
He spent the remaining hours of the first night texting Hannah; he told her he was settled, that he’d had the first injection. He told her all about the room, and what Gideon had told him. He’d been told he wasn’t a prisoner, so he got up and had a look around, though made sure not to mess with anything that he didn’t have the expertise to mess with. He could have taken pictures. He could have sent them elsewhere. There were plenty of things he could have done but didn’t. Who was he going to share the information with? Truth be told, Freddie wasn’t interested in the politics. He wanted peace, and stirring another terrorist raid wasn’t on the agenda. He wasn’t a spy. Espionage was not his forte.
If the cure worked, he would tell people about it. He hoped that Gideon and the scientists here would offer the cure free of charge to those who needed it, though he doubted he’d get much information out of them regarding their plans if he were to ask. Though, that wouldn’t stop him from asking, later. It might help kill some time.
When Raul returned to check on him, Freddie asked if it were possible to get some books. Any books, it didn’t matter. Just something to read while he was sitting around, waiting for something to happen. By the time said books arrived, however, Freddie was already laying down, pillow over his head to block out the light. Weariness had crept up on him, and sleep was not far behind. The sun hadn’t risen, yet, but fatigue claimed him.
The next night, Freddie woke to the sound of someone laughing. He assumed it was the lab technicians, scientists. Someone there to help with the cure. His eyes moved lazily beneath his closed eyelids, still so tired. It was unusual to feel so tired. Normally, as soon as the sun had completely sunk below the horizon, he was suddenly awake, suddenly alert, with all the cooped-up energy of a healthy man in the prime of his life. Now, however, he felt like he was coming down with something. A fever, maybe, though he didn’t feel hot, or unreasonably cold.
The island, over there. I’ve walked its length twice over. But it’s too far away now…
It took a good five seconds for Freddie’s eyes to split open, the blue violent in the whiteness of the light spilling into the room. He sat up and looked around. No one was there. He could have sworn someone was whispering in his here. Whispering, something about islands…
He let out a deep sigh. He told himself he’d been dreaming, in that state between sleep and consciousness. It wasn’t anything. It was just his imagination doing strange things in this unfamiliar place. He missed Hannah, too. This was the first night he’d woken up without her by his side in… well, months. Here, he was alone.
To pass the time, he moved the bed so it was up against a wall. He’d got dressed in a pair of track suit pants and plain t-shirt, his feet bare. He was comfortable, at least. The pillow was propped up against the wall and the books laid out beside him; he texted Hannah to tell her he was awake. He was still safe. He didn’t tell her about the whispering, but told her how tired he felt, like there was sand in his eyes.
He was a good patient. Raul came and went to check on him; he took blood, checked his eyes, and numerous other tests that Freddie didn’t ask about. He did, however, ask if they were testing on animals; he’d been hearing them, on and off. Whimpers and yelps, howls, as if from monkeys. Growls, both timid and vicious. They were just echoes; he wondered if they were coming through from another room through the vents.
Raul assured Freddie there were no animals; none that were making that much noise, anyhow. He took notes. Freddie, too, took notes. Suddenly he felt cold, and it wasn’t fever. It was the cold of fear; a prickling of it, just beneath his skin. Subtle, but it was there. Was he going to lose his mind? Was he going to go insane? Was this just the beginning of the end? What point was there in being human if he didn’t have the wits to enjoy his life? He swallowed down the fear. He’d keep going. These things could pass.
The weariness only increased, and Freddie found himself sleeping more than not. With each day that passed, every night that he woke up the more he felt like an old man. His muscles ached—an ache that penetrated right down to the bone. The sleep was restless; he kept hearing footsteps, as if someone were coming to check on him, but when he opened his eyes there was no one there. And the whispers, too—that first one wasn’t his imagination, he concluded. They were meaningless, like disjointed conversations, like he’d been dropped into the middle of someone else’s tete-a-tete. Sometimes the whispers were urgent, sometimes they were just meandering nothings.
It was disconcerting.
By the beginning of the third night, after confessing all this to Raul and enduring another round of tests, he asked if Hannah would be allowed in. He no longer wanted to be alone. He’d understood why, to begin with; by now, they should know that he didn’t intend to sabotage them, and he vouched for Hannah’s trustworthiness. He didn’t mean to use his powers, though he was almost relieved that they were still there. His tongue was silver, his pleading weighted with conviction and persuasion.
”Please. You’d allow a dying man’s relatives space his bed, wouldn’t you? I’d really prefer not to go through this alone…”
