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CHAPTER EIGHT JUSQU'À CE QUE LA MORT NOUS SÉPARE ( TILL DEATH DO US PART )
Something cold laps at my ankle.
Soon it laps the senses. Rhythmic and involuntary to my ears like breath in my lungs. My eyelids peel from my waterline. I blink twice and darkness still remains. Amongst the panic of that I note how the darkness is not pitch, but stroked with curved lines of white and blue. Shadows. Pebbles. Waves.
Something brighter. Bounding between the soft blues and white in golden, erratic jolts. The rhythmic laps jarring with spoken voices. They are fuzzy at the edges. They're loud. Close. These spoken voices are yelling voices but endless miles away.
A touch rattles the rubble of my body.
Somebody stifles a gasp between her weathered hand. My vision is splintered like a fractured windowpane, silhouettes hazed and lucid. People murmur in concern. My voice is stagnant. My body is on fire.
I breathe in. I breathe out.
A silhouette in my vision is replaced. A familiar face. They look over me with such a calm sincerity that my eyes burn with tears. The limbs that felt as though they didn't belong to me start to stir with movement, pushing back on the sharp pangs and pulls of searing pain. The darkened world rolls in my eyes.
'No, no,' Barry dismisses. 'Let her do it.'
'They left without me,' I'm mumbling to them.
'They what?'
'The plane.... took off... raptor...'
My shoulder twitches with a wave of sharp discomfort. I grit my teeth in pain.
