L.L. Foster - The Awakening

Please , she pleaded in small blips of sentient awareness, keep Luther safe .

Watch over Morty.

Guard Bliss.

Not physically with her but still right there , in her thoughts and spirit where she couldn't forget about them, these people afflicted her mind. She could literally see Mort, so beaten down and sad that she'd left him behind.

And Luther, ripe with suspicion and an overpowering protectiveness.

And poor Bliss, scared and young and alone—trusting her…

Go away . Gaby silently screamed to those emotional phantoms. She had a job to do, a job they couldn't understand, things they couldn't fathom.

The warring of her duty against her emotion made her ill. Too many people concerned her. Too many people had gotten past her shields, dividing her attention, causing her to right the pull, weakening it and her.

To block them from her mind, Gaby concentrated on the agony, visualizing it as a live thing, red-hot and fierce within her.

She wouldn't stumble; no never that. She'd just suffer—and keep going.

Without thoughts of her friends to lead her into deadly errors.

Losing all concept of real time, she reached the face of the looming hospital structure. The moon cowered behind thick gray clouds. Distant streetlamps couldn't illuminate through the humid air. An aura of monstrous proportions bloated from the area, pickled with black holes indicating imbalance, muddy with evil, gray with depression.

For those who saw auras, the warning couldn't be clearer.

For those who fought evil, it didn't matter.

Single-minded in her purpose, without looking around to check for witnesses, Gaby forged beyond the fog of contamination and plunged into the black woods. A gust of wind surged behind her, bowing trees, parting shrubs, creating a bold ingress to her goal.

She blended with the shadows, moved with the night sounds. Undetectable. Agitated but inconversable. As much a spirit as those restless apparitions swirling round her in a maddened frenzy.

Oblivious to the thorny twigs that snagged her skin and the jagged stones that dug into her exposed toes, Gaby prowled deeper.

At the corners of her consciousness, images of both Luther and Morty tried to intrude.

No . She snuffed them with ruthless determination and pushed ahead. Farther and farther into the woods.

She would do what she must, and thoughts of them would not hinder her. Yet the more she tried to barricade them from her mind, the greater her agony became. A few shaky steps later, the effort of blocking them took out her knees, and she stumbled.

Confused, Gaby crawled upright and took two more steps.

Her lungs squeezed, making her gasp for each breath. She strangled, unable to go on.

What the fuck was this?

The agony tore into her, more ruthless than anything she'd ever experienced. She doubled over, stunned, disordered—and then she heard it.

Laughter. Moaning. From the doctor and the victims.

And worse: lumbering footsteps from her left. Eyes closing, Gaby curled in on herself. She didn't have to see the intruder to know who it was. Opening herself, she felt him, saw him, knew him.

Morty.

Oh God, no.

Now it made sense. She couldn't block him, because he wasn't just a troubling thought. The idiot had followed her after all.

And now, he very well might die.

Morty's footsteps halted, and he whispered loudly, "Gaby?"

Collapsed on her side, moist dirt on her cheek and a multilegged bug nearing her ear, Gaby wet her lips. Her eyes burned and her heart ached for the possibilities ahead.

She had no one but herself to blame. She'd been greedy, wanting what she couldn't have. Father Mullond had told her many times that friendship was beyond her. It put her and others at risk. She had God's duty, and that should have been enough.

Idiot. Selfish, greedy fool.

But castigating herself would solve nothing. She had to put the pain aside and find some logic in this absurd situation.

Summoning great strength, Gaby struggled into a sitting position. The torment was so unbearable that she decided she'd kill Morty herself if he survived this. Through teeth clenched in pain, she said, "Shut the fuck up, Mort."

He went quiet—and crashed toward her, "Thank God."

Doing what few could, Gaby compartmentalized the pain and got to her feet. Her fingers dug into Mort's arm, hard enough to leave bruises that would linger for weeks.

"You will go back," she ordered. "Right now."

"No. I can't." Both his hands wrapped around her wrist, but he couldn't pull away her steely grip. "Gaby, please. I wouldn't be able to find my way out if I tried."

They were too close to the target. Morty might not hear it, but the sonance of inflicted misery clamored against her eardrums in a deafening roar.

The suffering of others made her ill.

She had a choice to make, and she had to choose the others. Mort would be on his own.

"Suit yourself," she said, and by sheer strength of will, she got her legs moving. Though she stumbled along like a zombie, Morty failed to keep up with her, and that suited Gaby fine.

She reached the isolation hospital with Morty trailing several yards behind. Eyes flinching, Gaby withdrew her knife and studied the graffiti-covered walls.

Bad premonitions vibrated from that structure.

In such close proximity, her highly attuned ears captured the perspicuous torment. Gaby found a jagged opening in the edifice by way of a boarded-up window. Termites had eaten through the broken wood slats. A rusted nail pulled free.

Holding her knife hilt in her teeth, sweat trickling down her temples, Gaby hoisted herself up to the ledge and looked inside. Oblivion greeted her. A great crepuscule of misery.

Then, as she stared with unwavering patience, a flicker of light in the distance caught her attention. Gaby used care as she brought up a foot to the ledge and levered herself into a sitting position on the treacherous sill.

A flashlight would have been a blessing, but she didn't dare, even if she had one. She would see what she needed to see, as God meant her to see it.

That's how it had always been.

Turning so her back faced the room, she slowly, inch by inch, eased down into the chamber. When she dangled by her fingertips and could still feel nothing beneath her, she gave in to trust and dropped.

Breath held, she fell for a few seconds and then landed a few feet lower with jarring impact. Her elbow collided with a hard edge, but she felt no added pain. Something toppled, metal clashed, and a cacophony of sound echoed garishly throughout the room.

Gaby froze, but just as quickly turned to access the damage.

Nothing moved. No one stirred.

The faint light was gone.

To use her intuitive sight, she had to have something to see.

Giving her eyes time to adjust to her tenebrous surroundings, her heart time to stop pounding, she waited.

As she quieted, another impression of Luther formed in her mind. Big and strong. Honest and good. Rather than discard the image, Gaby studied it, and saw woods surrounding him, a woman at his side.

Flashlights. Followers. Weapons.

The images of Luther possibly had significant meaning. If Morty had followed her, Luther might have followed him. He could be very close by.

Not that it could stop her.

Gaby opened her mind to her duty and knew what to do, where to go. As the blind might, she felt in front of her with each step and slowly dragged her feet to avoid stepping on anything sharp.

Shadows, made more vague by her perception of evil, indicated larger obstacles. Metal shelves. Tables. Objects cluttered the rotted floor, making progress sluggish. Somewhere outside, she heard Morty again whispering her name, and Gaby prayed she'd finish before he found her.