Black Equation - The Deceived Ones

Number Fifteen

"There are winds of destiny that blow when we least expect them. Sometimes they gust with the fury of a hurricane, sometimes they barely fan one's cheek. But the winds cannot be denied, bringing as they often do a future that is impossible to ignore."

Number Fifteen

The seemingly inhuman shriek hurt Krad's ears, her shrill voice enough to make his muscles tense in discomfort, half-expecting a sonic boom of sorts – the kind that would send the glass in the car flying in all directions. Of course, it didn't; the car was virtually undamaged, but he was so sure it was possible he nearly braced for the impact.

All of these happened within seconds, but for Krad it was as if he was locked inside a room with blaring heavy metal screamo for an hour. His head pounded, most likely due to his proximity with the girl and the sensitivity of his hearing. There was a slight buzz in his ears; he wondered if he had gone deaf.

He sucked his breath and let it out in a wheeze, his mind working and churning idly on what to do next.

The blonde girl – Faye Summers, he remembered her full name – made a small choking sound at the back of her throat, obviously pained by her own shriek. It was obvious by the way her pupils dilated and expanded that the effects of alcohol were still heavy on her. She looked scared and distressed and astonished and wrecked all at the same time. Krad had never seen anything like it.

"Do you want something to drink?" he asked after a minute, speaking so low he thought she couldn't hear him. If she indeed screamed her lungs out, he imagined she must be parched. Water or tea might do the trick.

"O-Oh my god," she said in a scratchy voice, her hands flying over her mouth. Her fingers were still wet with his saliva, and her bringing them to cover her mouth made him feel a strange desire to – of what, he ignored for the meantime. "Tell me I'm not dreaming."

He only stared at her, making his body as motionless as possible. He didn't intend to frighten her. He didn't want her to snap and flee. If she fled, he wouldn't follow her. That would be the end of this strange encounter, and Krad would return to Las Vegas as if nothing happened. He would go back to a life led by puppet strings – which he didn't like nor minded the least.

When she did neither, he sighed inaudibly in relief. He stared at her and allowed himself to speak slowly, calmly, "You are not dreaming."

Her green eyes, rimmed with red, widened. She probably didn't expect him to respond. "You – I'm not? Surely, I am –"

"No, you're not."

"But – "

"You are very much awake."

"But," she blurted, "why am I –?"

"I said you're awake."

"But –"