what you wish for

1 ~ the extraction

Three months later.

At the end of the corridor, rays of sunlight lined three perfect streaks across the linoleum.

A waft of burning pine—no—incense. A thought appears: Frarie would burn incense after her shower and with a prayer, send the cleanse down the hall. I try to open the heavy doors to the next corridor but they don't budge. I don't have an access key.

I see the keypad next to the door and type in the code from muscle memory. The door opens a few seconds later with a click that echoes down the empty hall. With a quick glance back, I pass through the opening, but there's only darkness on the other side.

My eyebrows knit and unfurl, trying to adjust my gaze and fix my concentration. But it's no use. The passageway only brought me this far.

As I relax, my eyes open and adjust to the fluorescence. Unlike the passageway, there's no sunlight here.

Familiar hazel eyes bind me to the moment, wearing out the edges of the memory.

It's still an active thought, a reminder, that they're mechanical in nature. Not charming. Not that gaze, not the those eyes.

As the haze around my mind and eyes clear, the question lingers in the air.

What did you find?

"Nothing," I say, disinterested.

"The code? You must have seen the code," he counters.

I shrug.

"It's not a conscious thought," I reply.

The air hums to a steady, prominent vibration. Frustration.

Still, from the demeanour he stays cool.

"I expect a full written report," he says, raising from his chair.

He knows that I'm well aware of the protocol. But since the exploration bore empty, he has to assert his power elsewhere. I don't reply.

"I'll leave you to recover," he lifts from the chair, buttoning his jacket. The silence is disconcerting but he knows his cues. They're the same each time.

He exits right instead of left to meet the researcher in the lab across the hall. I listen. I hear fingers thrumming against the table, the frustration is now nervousness. They don't have any results either, at least not any reliable indicators.

I wait in the room until he leaves the laboratory, it's a short visit. The air turns bitter with each heavy, distant step. He leaves but the cloud remains overhead. The frustration has turned deeper, and someone will likely be at the receiving end.

Minerva.

Her face had appeared before her name. Her name I happened to read when he had first entered the room. Henry's latest conquest.

She's younger than the rest. She's different, he thinks, not realizing that he's using her perspective to rekindle his own interest in his work. It's all so new from her eyes. The excitement from the novelty is hard to surrender.

I move to the small opening at the far side wall. He's at his car now with his phone glued to his ear. He's too far out of reach.

Expending more energy after a dissociation isn't worth it, I decide, especially since Henry won't be returning for the rest of the day.

I turn to the body behind me.

On the bed, she's still peaceful. I didn't protrude enough to disturb her state. Any unwilling or forceful action would have immediately caused her to wake. Yet I always found it extraordinary how much information people can hold in their unconscious mind, all the minute details.

I check her vitals and let a small wish surface between the two of us.

A hope that I don't have to see her again tomorrow.